


Kintsukuroi

by storyknitter



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyknitter/pseuds/storyknitter
Summary: "Kintsukuroi (金繕い, 'golden repair') is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy,it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise."Filler scenes (and slight changes) for Fractured Alliances and beyond.





	1. Late Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to tumblr as a prompt response: "things you said at 1 am."
> 
> Set shortly before Theron and Sanna's disastrous trip to Umbara.

Jolting awake, Vassanna allowed the details of her dream to slip through her fingers. With Vitiate finally – _finally_ – gone from her mind, her recent dreams had fewer teeth and were easier to let float away. Though they no longer grabbed her by the throat, leaving her gasping and breathless, she still turned to Theron for comfort. Reaching out, she found his side of the bed cold and empty.

The light of a datapad flickered from the sofa and she sat up, frowning in concern as he drained the glass of whiskey in his hand and immediately refilled it. That bottle was far emptier than when she had gone to sleep.

Sliding out of bed, she checked her chrono and was surprised to see the display read 0145 – it was later than she'd thought. Crossing their rooms, she approached the couch quietly, sitting next to Theron and resting her hand on his knee. He hardly noticed her until she took the datapad out of his hands, turned it off, and set it on the caf table. Looking pointedly at the glass, then into his eyes, Vassanna held his face in her hands and softly said, “Come to bed, love. It's late.”

“I'm almost done for the night. You go, I'll join you in a bit.” He pulled away, kissing the palm of her hand, and reached for the pad, trading it for the whiskey.

“C’mon, workaholic,” she said with a grin, and took the datapad away from him again, brandishing it playfully as she continued. “Drinking half a bottle of whiskey and staring at  _this_ all night long? It's not going to solve the traitor issue. Or the uprisings.” She grew serious. “Or any of the other problems we have. The only thing it’s going to do is make you tired.” She glanced at the whiskey, setting the pad in her lap. “And maybe hungover.”

“I love you,” he said with a chuckle. “I appreciate it, babe, but I'm an adult and can set my own bedtime.” Theron leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose before reaching for the device she held captive. With a small frown, she shifted the datapad behind her and out of his reach with one hand, the other coming to rest on his cheek.

“Theron, it’s late. You need the rest; you haven't been sleeping well. Besides, you’ll think better in the morning.” She leaned forward and kissed him; along with love and devotion, guilt rolled off of him in waves. Pulling back slightly, she nuzzled his nose and gave him another soft kiss. “This isn’t your fault, love,” she whispered. “There’s nothing for you to feel guilty about. How could you possibly have known–”

“Get out of my head, Sanna,” he snapped as he turned away from her with a frown, snatching up his whiskey and downing the remaining contents. She blinked owlishly as his words sank in, shock and hurt swirling through her. Dropping the datapad to the cushion behind her, she folded her arms stiffly across her chest.

“I wasn’t ‘in your head’ – and you should know better than to think that. Or has all of that whiskey made you forget how our bond works?” she asked.

Theron sighed heavily and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. Really.” Another sigh escaped and he avoided meeting her eyes, focusing on the now-empty glass instead. “It’s just… it’s a lot right now. And….” As he trailed off, he closed his eyes and slumped back on the couch, utterly defeated.

The silence stretched out between them, growing colder with every passing moment. Sitting upright abruptly, Theron leaned forward, taking Sanna’s shoulders in his hands and resting his forehead against hers. She maintained her rigid posture as his mouth opened and closed, trying to find the right words.

“You know how much I love you, right? ‘Cause it’s a lot. A _lot_. And I’m sorry for yelling at you, it was uncalled for.” Sanna tilted her head up slightly so their noses touched, her eyes closed. Theron sighed again and growled through clenched teeth, “I _hate_ this traitor. I despise everything they’ve done to you, to us, to the Alliance.” She reached up to run her fingers through his hair as he spoke, and he grasped her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “Sanna, I need to–”

Opening her eyes and meeting his troubled ones, one corner of her mouth quirked up. “Come to bed, love.”

“I love you." He pulled her into a rough, desperate embrace. " _Stars_ , I love you.”

Vassanna kissed Theron tenderly, then took his hand and led him up the stairs to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised in early September, before reposting here.


	2. Fractured Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vassanna tries to reason with Theron after Umbara, and it goes about as well as one would think. Set shortly after Sanna and Lana return to Odessen.

Theron reviewed the file on his datapad, working on its decryption at Atrius’s request. It was an insulting waste of his talents if he thought about it; he’d decrypted these kinds of files in his sleep before. His problem today was a lack of focus: all he could think about was _her_. Had it really only been a week since he’d left Sanna and the Alliance behind? He sighed and refocused, remembering why he was pulling this crazy stunt in the first damn place. _I have to keep her safe._

His comm rang, startling him out of his reverie, and he answered without looking. Instead of his new bosses, it was a woman with a messy bun and chevron tattoos on her cheekbones. Someone he’d never expected to see on this new holocomm frequency. Someone who was biting her lower lip in concentration and focus in that way that always made him want to kiss her to distraction.

Vassanna looked up with a triumphant cry, brandishing a slicer’s spike and grinning. “Stars above, I can’t believe I actually got that to work! Theron– no wait, please don’t hang up! Just give me a minute or two, please. Please.”

His hands fisted and he frowned at her, willing her to disconnect before he had to push her away. She had to leave him alone or else the Order might think him suspect. Well, he _was_ , but they didn’t need to know that yet.

_Wait, did she seriously just slice my holocomm? That’s impressive. How did she even– Sixteen. Dammit, that bitch of a droid had something to do with this. Sanna’s slicing skills aren’t that good and there’s no way she’s got any record of this new comm frequency. Hells,_ Lana _doesn't even have this frequency, and she–_

_No, stop._ Focus _, Shan._

“Theron, I– You know that leadership isn’t really my favorite thing.” Sanna glanced up at him with a wry smile that slid off her face the next moment. “I thought I was doing all right, though, that we were– Umm, I don’t know what I did or what’s broken, and I don’t know how to fix it until I understand. I need your help to understand where I went wrong. I want to fix it, but I don’t know–” She looked down for a moment, lip in her teeth, forefinger and thumb running across an imagined ring of meditation beads.

_Are those circles under her eyes darker than they were, or is it just the lighting? Please just be the lighting._

“Theron, please,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I miss you.” The way she looked at him made him want to drop everything and run back to her side, to take her in his arms and reassure her that everything would be okay. “Our quarters, the bed, it’s–” She stopped, mouth slightly open, and she wilted before his eyes. She must have expected him to jump into the conversation by now, but all he could do was glare and try to figure out what to say that wouldn’t expose him and would keep her from trying to track him down again.

_I have to keep her safe, dammit_.

“Umm,” she stumbled on. “It– it all just seems so– everything’s so empty without you here. I lov– please, will you– we can fix this, I know we can. I love you, Theron. Come _home_.” Her voice broke on the last word and he clenched his jaw tighter than he thought was possible.

_You can do this, Shan._

“I already told you,” he snarled. “The Alliance is rotting away; it’s too far gone, and you can’t manage to bring peace. You failed at what you wanted for the galaxy, but I found something else that will make it right.”

“What I wanted?” A frown crossed her face and Theron thought he saw anger flash in her eyes, but it was hard to tell over the comm. “What I wanted? I never wanted _any of this_.” Sanna threw her arms out in a gesture encompassing everything around her. “And you _know_ that! I never wanted the Throne, or to be ‘Commander,’ or to lose most of my friends while slowly dying in carbonite!” She was shouting now, composure completely gone. “I most certainly never wanted Vitiate in my head for over seven years of my life. Seven _years_!” She paused, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Two deep breaths. Three.

Quietly, she continued, “The only thing I ever really wanted, in all my life, was you. Just you.” Her chin trembled and she blinked rapidly. “Come home, Theron. We can make this work, we can make things better.”

His heart squeezed in his chest and he felt a lump starting in his throat, but he pushed past it. “What about peace? Did you ever want that?”

“ _You_ bring me peace.”

_Dammit_ , he thought. _I can’t, I can’t do this to her._ But then he thought about the Order’s plan to remove her and the Alliance from the galaxy and the need to protect her – to keep her alive – at all cost kept him going.

“What about the rest of the galaxy, huh?” She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears, arms wrapped around herself. He stilled, seeing the line in the sand she’d accidentally shown him, the line that meant going too far into unforgivable territory, the line that he should never, ever cross. _Dammit. Sanna, I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. Ugh, this is gonna kill us both, but I need you to give up on finding me. I’m so sorry._ He forced a ferocious glare to his features and took a breath.

“You know what I think, Vassanna? I think that maybe you got a little too comfortable with Vitiate in your head.” Her eyes widened with shock at his words and mocking tone, and Theron steeled himself to continue the charade. _Shit, this is gonna hurt. Forgive me, Sanna_. “I think that he hung out in your mind, in your psyche, a little too long and you got used to it.” She slowly shook her head in fear and denial. “That it numbed you to how you used to think, back when you actually gave a damn about saving the galaxy. And that maybe, when he tried to take over your body on the Throne, you didn’t quite get rid of all of him. That he’d sunk his claws in too deep for you to ever be just yourself again. That you’ve become like him. You’re a benevolent dictator now, right?”

She jerked back as though he’d struck her and gasped out a small, shaky, “No.”

_Oh fuck, this hurts more than I thought. I’m so sorry, sweetheart._

“No, you don’t mean that Theron, you can’t…” Her voice trailed off and her face slowly filled with horror at what he’d said. He stood there, stoic, and watched the tears stream from her eyes as he ‘confirmed’ her worst nightmare, hand pressed to her aching heart. He couldn’t, wouldn’t look away, though. He owed her that much, at least.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, Commander – I thought you’d take the hint on Umbara.” _I’m so, so sorry._ Theron ended the call before he could see her face crumple and her shoulders heave with sobs. _Coward!_ Trying to calm his shaking hands and ignore the lump in his throat, he filed everything he’d just said under the section of his memories labeled ‘repugnant, but for The Greater Good.’

To distract himself, he ran a program to erase all the data from the holocomm, resetting and changing the frequency at the same time. The device chimed its happy notification as the program finished running, but Theron didn’t hear it. His mind’s eye was replaying the last few moments of their conversation, pausing torturously on the broken look she’d given him just before he’d disconnected the call.

Blinking away the blurriness obstructing his view of the comm display, he hurled the offending piece of tech across the room with all his might, smashing it into a million tiny pieces. He sank back into his chair, hanging his head in his hands.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr, revised in early September. (And yeah, it still hurts.)


	3. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This picks up where chapter 2 left off. Not published previously.

The comm panel in the shuttle cockpit chirped a notice for an incoming call and Theron’s heart sank. _Please don’t be Sanna_ , he thought. He couldn’t bear the idea of breaking her heart for the third time in a week, of looking into those beautiful, somber eyes and lying to her again. Not again.

He lifted his head from his hands and sat upright, taking a deep breath. _You can do this_ , he told himself, though the pep-talk fell flat. _You’re not_ her _Theron anymore. You’re Theron Shan, newest member of the Order of Zildrog and Alliance traitor. This Theron can do whatever it takes. He has to_.

Activating the communicator, some small relief flooded his chest as he saw the GEMINI droid rather than his Jedi. It quickly turned to irritation and fury as soon as she spoke, however, knowing that she was part of the reason he’d had to undertake this charade.

“I just overheard something interesting, Agent Shan.” Her modulated voice grated his nerves.

 _I’ll bet you did, you bucket of bolts_ , he grumbled to himself. “And what does that have to do with me, Sixteen?”

“You and your ‘sweetheart’ Commander appeared to have a lovely chat.” She left the statement dangling, allowing Theron to either extract or hang himself with the answer he gave. He crossed his arms with forced indifference.

“Well, I was wondering – did she actually slice my holocomm all by herself, or did she have help? From, say, someone who has access to both my new comm frequency and the entire Alliance base?” he asked suspiciously, delaying as he rushed to put together an explanation that would meet Sixteen’s approval. If she could have raised an eyebrow, Theron was sure she would have.

“You are more astute than I expected.”

“Thanks, I think. Besides, the Commander can’t slice worth a damn,” Theron said with a snort, disdain dripping from his words.

“This is not a satisfactory response, it is an attempt to change the subject. You are required to explain your conversation,” she insisted. Theron heaved a sigh and hoped that his twisted honesty worked.

“What do you want me to say, that I actually loved her at one point? That I didn’t want to hurt her? ‘Cause that’s true.” He glared at the droid and dug his hands into his hips. “But I couldn’t stand by anymore and just watch while she dragged everyone in this Force-forsaken galaxy even further into war, into more destruction and death. No, I don’t want to hurt her, but she can’t – she _won’t_ – make the hard calls, even when _everything_ is at stake. So I will. I'm doing what's necessary, what is _right_ , because she won't.” He allowed the fury he felt for the Order to bleed into his voice as he forced a sneer. “I will never forgive her for all this, the mess she made of everything. She is dead to me.”

The lies burned in his throat and ripped at his heart, but he stared down the rogue GEMINI unit, daring her to question him and his devotion to Vinn’s cause. The droid inspected him, eyes glowing.

“That is excellent news. I’ll be sure to inform Atrius,” Sixteen said, almost gleefully. “In the meanwhile, ensure that the Alliance Commander does not attempt to contact you again. It would be folly – for you both.”

Theron frowned and nodded, ignoring the threat. “Agreed. She needs to stop getting in my way.”

“One more thing,” the droid continued. “I will pass along a recording from Odessen that you may wish to review before you take further action against her. It appears that the Alliance Commander is weaker than expected; she did not take your comments well.”

“I really can't imagine she would have, all things considered. But this – what we're doing – is far more important than some hurt feelings.” Theron met her mechanical gaze with bored annoyance. “Are we done here?”

“For the moment. I will be watching you, Theron Shan.”

“Be my guest. I have nothing to hide,” he said.

GEMINI 16 disconnected the call and Theron dropped into the pilot’s seat, exhausted and heartbroken. He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and sighed. He had no idea how long he sat there, defeated, thinking of Sanna and why he was doing this, talking himself out of just giving up and going back home.

But he _was_ home now, he realized, here in his shuttle. He'd forsaken the warm and loving home shared with his Jedi, and– no. No, she wasn't _his_ Jedi, not anymore. He'd given her up to keep her safe.

Maybe though, just maybe, if he played his cards right and made it out of this alive, he could get a chance to apologize. To try and make things right between them. Maybe...

The ping of a new message on his datapad dragged him out of his gloomy thoughts. Glancing at the tablet, he saw that Sixteen had followed through on her promise – there was a new vid file sitting in his inbox.

 _No time like the present_ , he thought. _If it's as bad as I think it's gonna be, it’ll be better to just get this over with. Like ripping off a kolto patch_.

Theron was almost certain that Sixteen was watching through his datapad and holo-comm – when they were on – so he slipped back into his Order persona. Pulling up the file, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the console. As he activated the recording, a tiny voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to leave it be, but he forged on. Unsurprisingly, the vid showed Vassanna: Blue-tinged, she stood frozen before the large holocomm in their room with her arms wrapped around herself, looking up at a projection of his face, anger and disdain twisting his features. He hardly recognized himself.

Theron took a deep breath, pressed play, and immediately regretted every decision he'd made in the last week. Scratch that – every decision he’d made since hearing about this cursed Order.

Her face – oh stars, her _face_ – crumpled as she struggled to keep her tears from spilling, chin trembling, eyes blinking furiously. Member-of-the-Order-Theron’s voice was harsh – callous, _heartless_ – telling her that she'd become the one thing she feared most, that he was sorry it had to end this way, before the call disconnected with a flicker and a click.

 _I swear I never wanted it to end, sweetheart_ , he thought, then snorted bitterly, realizing she’d never hear his apology and probably wouldn’t forgive him even if she did.

With her hand clutched to her chest, Sanna dropped to her knees and curled into a ball. His gut twisted hearing her modulated voice calling for him between sobs, telling him that he didn't really mean that, he _couldn't_ mean it; begging him to come back and tell her he didn't mean it; he had to tell her why, she deserved to know _why_.

Hells, she looked so... so _small_.

Theron struggled to hold his head high, to keep his mask on, to fight the shameful heat creeping into his cheeks as he recalled everything he'd said and done in the name of protecting her. Heaving a deep sigh, he feigned a disappointed shake of his head and twist of his lips as Lana entered the Commander’s room, clucking like a mother hen. She’d promised to keep an eye on Sanna for him, just in case –

Just in case.

“All right. Let’s get you to bed,” she ordered.

“Lana, I don’t understand,” Sanna whimpered. “Why would he do this? And he didn’t trust me, why couldn't he trust me?” She buried her face in her hands, muffling another sob, and Lana patted her shoulder encouragingly.

“Did he mean _anything_ he said to me or was it all a lie? I thought that he– that I – oh, I’m such a naive _idiot_.”

“No, you’re not,” the Sith said softly. “There was no way you could have seen this coming.”

"That’s exactly the problem. I mean, really – how stupid am I, to think that I actually meant something to him or that he loved–”

“Stop this nonsense at once,” Lana snapped. “You are not stupid. And there is no doubt in my mind that he loves you. Come now, to bed with you, Vassanna.”

“But why– how _could_ he...” Her words dissolved into hiccuping sobs and she curled back into herself, tucking her knees to her chest.

Lana sighed, her fisted hands digging into her hips. Her lips pursed briefly before she muttered, “Dammit, Theron,” and crouched down, wrapping her arms around the weeping Jedi, murmuring soothing words and stroking her hair.

(His conversation with Lana, weeks old, echoed in his mind: _I don't think this is a good idea. You underestimate her feelings for_ –

 _She can handle it, Lana. She's dealt with worse_.

He'd never been more wrong.)

“All right now, Sanna, no more dawdling. It's time for your medication.” The woman in question frowned up at her advisor.

“I'm fine,” she insisted through a sniffle.

“No, you're not,” the Sith retorted, handing over a cup of water, holding it just above the brunette’s head. As Sanna reached up for it, her shoulder cracked loudly; she winced and scowled up at Lana. “Now take your medicine or I’ll call in the doctor.”

Lana prodded and pushed Vassanna through her bedtime routine, and the Jedi appeared to settle as she went through the motions. She slipped under the covers, fingers over her mouth as a jaw-cracking yawn escaped.

“Wait!” Vassanna bolted upright. “How are you feeling? I've been so wrapped up in...” She shook her head as though to clear it. “He _shot_ you,” she said, horrified.

“I'm all right, just a little sore. Thank you for checking,” the Sith answered with a smile.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to–”

“Please. You've had a few things on your mind of late. I understand.” Lana turned to leave. “Are you certain you'll be all right tonight?

“I'm okay, Lana,” she answered with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course. Rest well, my friend.”

 _No no no, she's not okay!_ Theron mentally shouted at Lana, his teeth clenched. _That's her “I'm only holding this together until I'm alone” act_.

She cried herself to sleep. The last five minutes of that damn vid were literally just Sanna crying herself to sleep. He didn't think his heart could hurt any more than it had on Umbara, but he was wrong about that, too.

Theron forced himself to play along for the Order, making a disgusted face and rolling his eyes before turning off the datapad and flinging it on the dashboard. Rage boiled over: at Vinn, at Sixteen, at everyone who bought into all of this Zildrog crap. Unable to sit still, he hopped up and paced around the shuttle, feeling it grow smaller and smaller with every lap he took. He wanted to shout, to hit things, to rail against the injustice of it all – Sanna had given _everything_ for this Alliance, to better the galaxy and for what? He allowed himself one roar of frustration and anguish, hurling his pillow into the wall before collapsing onto his bed.

 _What in the hells am I going to write to her? Force knows I don’t want to hurt her anymore,_ he thought, dragging his hands down his face _. Damn that fucking nosy droid to every hell there is_.

He wallowed in bed for long minutes, his mind running in circles – past, present, possible futures. Finally, Theron sighed and walked back over to the pilot's chair and picked up the datapad, composing a draft.

 

> To: Vassanna
> 
> Subject: |

Theron stared at the blinking cursor, torn between what he _wanted_ to write (soft, sweet words telling her how very much she meant to him, begging her forgiveness, promising that he didn't mean a word of what he’d said and that it was all a show for the Order of Zildrog... but he couldn't blow his cover, not now) and what he _should_ write (harsh, spiteful, and vicious lies to satisfy Sixteen). Then he heard her voice in his mind, watery and broken, asking how naive and stupid she was. He knew Sanna well enough to realize that – despite the confident image she put forth – she still didn't quite believe that she was worth the trouble, or the faith that people placed in her, after everything she'd done.

But all good lies contained a shard of truth at their core. So he started with that.

 

> To: Vassanna
> 
> Subject: I love you|

* * *

Opening bleary eyes, Vassanna flailed at the beeping alarm clock to silence its shrill tone. She swung her legs out from under the covers and held her aching head in her hands, scrubbing her face in an attempt to clear away the last dregs of sleeping medication. The dull throbbing at her temples and behind her ears would go away by mid-morning; she could only hope that the jagged pain in her chest would fade too, sooner rather than later.

To distract herself, she reached for her datapad – just because her world had imploded didn't mean that everyone else's had, and there were never-ending Alliance reports to review and decisions to be made. The newest messages in her inbox were fairly standard summaries from the usual suspects. Sanna’s breath caught in her throat when she saw a message from _him_.

 _I love you_ , the subject read, and hope soared in her heart. This has to explain things, she thought. He would tell her that he hadn't meant those cruel words, that it was just for show, that he –

Oh.

She finished reading the message and then read it again, wondering how she'd failed him, failed the galaxy so spectacularly. The words on the screen blurred and no matter how much she blinked, they wouldn’t come into focus.

Her chin quivered and a sob clawed at her throat, trying to escape. Clapping a hand over her mouth and grasping desperately at the pad, Vassanna forced her breathing to steady, to smother the hitch that would be her undoing. Seized by despair, she flung the datapad across the room but caught it with the Force before it could smash into the stone wall.

How could she still have tears to shed? It seemed impossible with as much as she'd cried in the past week. One deep breath after another, she struggled to keep herself together – weeping wouldn't fix anything, wouldn't bring him home. It would only give her another headache.

Closing her eyes, Sanna let herself remember all the sweet looks, the gentle touches, the tender moments of her time with Theron. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took another deep breath, shoving every loving memory into that dark space in the back of her mind where Vitiate had prowled for years. She slammed the door shut, locking it, and opened her eyes again.

 _There is no emotion, there is peace. Attachments aren't inherently bad, but I can't let them control me like this. Not again_ , she thought, dashing away the one tear that had escaped. _There is no emotion, there is peace. No, there's never any peace, that's one thing the Sith have right._ She took a deep breath and refocused. _There is no emotion, there is_ peace _. Calm. There is no emotion... no emotion, there is calm, peace... no emotion_...

Her inscrutable Jedi mask slipped into place and, with a twitch of her fingers, the pad hovering in mid-air shattered. The bright spark in her violet eyes that Theron loved so much flickered, then faded away.


	4. Backlash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set about a week or so after chapters 2 and 3.

In the midst of reviewing the latest reports regarding Theron’s possible whereabouts, Lana sensed the presence of their Commander nearby and glanced up as Vassanna entered the War Room, an odd but thoughtful look on her face.

“Pardon the interruption,” she said, “but if you could spare some time today, I’d like to train with you.”

“Of course, Commander.” In the last week or so, she'd found that maintaining formal interactions in public helped keep Vassanna on an even keel. Pausing briefly, the blonde pulled up her schedule for the rest of the afternoon. “Will 1500 hours suit?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you then – thank you.”

* * *

Lana entered the training room, having changed into sparring clothes along the way, and found Vassanna sitting cross-legged in meditation, her sabers at rest on the weapon rack. Taking a moment to study the Commander, Lana noticed the smudges below her eyes were darker than last week; she'd have to recommend a sleep aid again and perhaps this time, her suggestion wouldn't be ignored.

Only a precious few weeks before Theron set his plan in motion, she'd foolishly promised that she'd keep a watchful eye on his beloved. He'd been so worried about the upcoming undercover operation that the stress was practically seeping from the hairline fractures in his excellent mental shielding, and she couldn't help but offer to do what she could to ease her friend's concerns. If only he’d brought her in sooner, perhaps Umbara wouldn't have played out quite the way it had.

Cursing Theron’s impetuous decision once more, she stepped forward. “Commander?”

“Thank you for joining me, Lana. I could use your expertise.” The Jedi meet her gaze with dull violet eyes and Lana allowed anger at Theron's decision course through her veins. _Better that than pity_ , she thought. _I know Vassanna doesn't want anyone's pity, but she certainly has it in spades_...

“I'd like like to learn some of your battle techniques,” Sanna continued. “I've seen them often enough to know how effective they are.”

_Just what is she up to?_

“I’m not certain I understand,” Lana answered, hedging slightly. “You’re quite formidable with two sabers; is there any reason you’re considering changing to one?”

“Well, it’s a bit more than that: I believe I need to expand my horizons. For example, the Zakuulan Knights use both sides of the Force and are quite powerful. Master Satele and Darth Marr both encouraged me to consider the balanced use of the Force, as well.” Lana’s suspicion grew and Sanna rushed out the rest of her request: “I’d like for you to teach me how to create Force lightning.” The words hung heavy in the air as Lana inspected her features, trying to decipher her level of sincerity and the intent behind the appeal.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no, I will not. Just because you’re upset about what happened on Umbara–”

“I am not–” Lana raised an eyebrow and Sanna cut herself off before blatantly lying. Instead, she sighed heavily. “Maybe the reason why the Alliance is falling apart is because of my inability to change. I've been clinging so desperately to my old ways and not embracing new ones. How can I expect former members of the Sith Empire to trust me if I'm preaching Jedi platitudes? Maybe they don't feel like they belong, especially since we went back to Iokath. The former 'Pubs left the Republic for a reason – maybe they see me as a remnant of the Old Guard. If stepping out of my comfort zone will help, will bring peace, then I'll do it.”

_But it’s not falling apart_ , Lana thought. _Not really. Everything he told you on that train was an act – not that I can admit it._ The Sith cursed Theron once more, pursing her lips as a slight furrow appeared on her brow. “Any particular reason that this is coming up now?”

“You're very good at what you do.” Despondency slipped onto the Commander's face briefly before it was buried beneath a discipline as ingrained as the Sith Code was to her. “And now we don't know what information will be shared and with whom. It would be good to vary my combat style.” A small, sad smile graced the Jedi's lips briefly before she continued. “Besides, I can honestly say that it's been on my mind since my little stroll through the Odessen wilds.”

As Lana weighed her options – she really wanted to discover what inspired this new venture – Vassanna looked up at her expectantly, raising an eyebrow with a confident smirk.

“Besides, if you say no, there are plenty of other perfectly capable Sith here that wouldn’t mind helping out their Commander.” Knowing she was cornered, Lana frowned and glared at her friend.

“Oh, you’re impossible! All right, _fine_.” A thought struck her. “But do you think you’ll be able to… erm, the Sith and the Jedi have wildly different applications of emotions with regard to the use of the Force.” Sanna let out a small chuckle in response.

“Wait, _that’s_ your objection? Coming from the most level-headed and pragmatic Sith I’ve ever come across in my whole life?”

She wasn't certain whether to be flattered or offended.

“Lana, come on. This is why I asked _you_ of all people. I thought it might be easier for me to understand from someone who is a bit more in control of their emotions than others.” With that, Vassanna stood up and asked, “So where do we start?”

“Are you at all familiar with the Sith Code?” Lana could have sworn that the Jedi suppressed a shiver, but continued at her nod. “All right then. The basic idea is that...”

* * *

Three and a half hours later, Sanna stood on shaky legs, pale and exhausted, but victorious. Her hands and forearms vacillated between pins-and-needles and smoldering, and they were covered in dark, lightning-shaped marks – bruises, almost. The markings faded rapidly, but they felt as though they were forever seared into her skin – no, her entire being. A long-buried memory from her time with the Emperor surfaced, bringing with it a shudder of fear.

“Perhaps we should stop for today.” Lana's gaze held concern and something else she couldn't quite place – suspicion, surprise perhaps. “I must say, I’m rather impressed at how quickly you picked this up.”

“Well, I'm supposedly ‘good at everything,’” Sanna answered with a dismissive snort. “It's certainly not true, but...” She shrugged. “Thank you for the excellent and in-depth instructions.”

“Would you like to continue in a day or two?”

“Of course,” she said aloud while her mind screamed  _no no no!_ “I am tired, though. Unless you need me for something, I think I’ll eat dinner in our– in _my_ quarters and go to bed early.”

“There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Sleep well.”

“Thank you again, Lana. Good night.”

Vassanna grabbed a quick sandwich from the mess hall before winding her way back to an empty room. Halfway through dinner, the enormity of what she’d spent the afternoon doing hit her squarely in the chest and she barely made it to the ‘fresher before she was sick.

That night she fell asleep on the couch, dreamed terrible dreams, and woke more exhausted than when she’d gone to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to tumblr over a year ago, revised in mid-October. I actually rewrote the middle portion from Lana's perspective. I think I've got a better handle on her than I did when I first wrote this.


	5. Café Noir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More post-Umbara angst for poor Vassanna.

Sanna glanced around, surveying the mechanical world of Iokath. Something was wrong – the layout, the sky perhaps – but she couldn’t place it. Drawing her sabers, she adjusted their comforting weight in her palms.

She shouldn’t be here alone.

Turning the corner, she found herself in a maze of mirrors and thrones. Echoes of voices swam around her, too indistinct to understand. As she inspected the mirrored hallways, searching for a way out, she noticed something odd – she was changing, growing older. Her hair slowly faded to white, the violet of her eyes shifting to a golden brown.

The indistinct voices began to clear and Theron’s cut through all the others, filled with concern. _Time’s running out. Hurry!_  

Another step brought her to the foot of the largest throne she’d seen. A chill ran through her as she realized it didn’t belong on Iokath: the last time she’d seen this throne was on the Emperor’s Fortress.

_YOU WERE LURED HERE_.

Panic choked her and she spun around, desperate to leave the cursed seat behind, only to come face-to-face with her aging self in another mirror. It went on for what seemed like an eternity, and Sanna’s sabers fell to the ground in her attempt to find a break in the glass or some escape from this hell.

_Only a handful of people could get close enough to sabotage the throne_.

Wait. Is _that_ what Theron meant for her to do? Oh stars, she wanted nothing to do with Vitiate’s throne, even if to destroy it.

_Take a seat, then hope for the best_.

She breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her racing heart. She could do this. She _must_ do this, her people were depending on her.

_Hope for the best_...

Vassanna climbed the steps slowly, dread filling her heart, her mind. She felt like a nerf led to slaughter.

_YOU DID NOT SEE THE BLADE TO YOUR NECK_.

Whipping her head around, she scoured the room for someone, anyone who could help her. She wanted to leave this place and never think about it again, but she was trapped.

_Hope for the best_...

Theron’s warm presence in the back of her head eased her fears and she approached the throne again, turning to sit with one deep, steadying breath. Numbness crept into her heavy limbs and her chest as she leaned back in the chair and Theron’s voice, cruel and heartless, hissed in her ear.

_You’ve become like him. You’re a benevolent dictator now, right?_

What? No, absolutely not. No, she swore she was only doing this to save– Sanna froze, seeing her reflection in the mirror again. No... no, it couldn’t be.

Valkorion’s reflection stared back at her, an arrogant, victorious smirk on his lips.

_YOU ARE BETRAYED_.

Pain seared its way through her body, starting at her neck and radiating outward. A scream of anguish clawed at her throat as Vitiate’s laughter vibrated through her entire being...

Vassanna jolted upright, tumbling out of the desk chair to the floor in a daze, and a datapad clattered to the floor next to her. “A dream,” she mumbled, rubbing at a crick in her neck. “It was only a dream.” Scrambling to her feet, Sanna took huge, gulping breaths of recycled air to soothe her frayed nerves. “Fine,” she said to herself as she paced. “Fine, Lana wins. I'll go see the doc about sleeping pills. Stars, I can't keep doing this.” Had it been four or five nights since she’d last slept? Meditation could only take her so far – hadn’t she learned that lesson after Rishi?

Smoothing a trembling hand over her hair, she winced as her shoulder twinged in protest. Irritation blossomed in her chest: it had been weeks since Umbara, when her jump out of that Force-forsaken train went awry, saddling her with a dislocated shoulder, among other injuries. So much time had been wasted floating in kolto, yet this stubborn joint refused to completely heal.

A knock at the door startled Sanna, sending the datapad she’d just retrieved crashing back to the floor. Unimpressed with the report she’d fallen asleep reading, she left the offensive pad where it lay.

“What a kriffing day,” she muttered with a sigh as she crossed to answer the knocking. “At least it can’t get any worse.”

The cheerful face of Hylo Visz greeted her as the heavy door to Vassanna’s quarters slid open. “Hey, Commander. I know you’ve been busy, so I thought I’d drop by to refill your stash of Spiran caf beans.”

She reached out instinctively with a smile to accept the brown paper package from her supply specialist. “Thank you Hylo, but this isn’t necessary. I still have over half of the last bag.”

Understanding struck both women simultaneously: one person tends to drink about half as much caf as two people would.

Sanna pulled her hands back to herself, clenched into fists, and swallowed hard. “As always, I appreciate the effort and credits that went into acquiring these beans for me. Perhaps we can slow the delivery rate going forward?” She couldn’t face the pity in Hylo’s eyes and the older woman tucked the bag under her arm.

“‘Course, Commander. If you don’t mind, I’ll pass these on to the commissary – I’d hate for them to go stale.”

“Absolutely. It would be a shame for such good caf to go to waste. Thank you again.”

With a jaunty salute that was somehow both irreverent and endearing, Hylo ambled off towards the cafe. Thinking fondly of her cousin, Sanna wondered if all spacers learned that salute when they acquired their first ship.

Leaning back into the now-closed door, she slid to the floor, knees tucked to her chest. She wanted to weep, to scream and shout, to break things, but couldn't summon the energy to hold on to any emotion longer than a brief moment. Everything was drowned out, smothered by a heavy nothingness in the pit of her stomach that never went away. This couldn’t possibly be what the Code was talking about, could it? There was no peace to be found in this lack of feeling. It had been six weeks already – nearly an entire _month_ , for kriff's sake – since he'd... _left_. It still hurt to breathe sometimes, thinking about him, what he’d done and said. When would this get easier? It had to get easier, right? Oh _Force_ , please let it get easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began as a prompt fill from Day 29 of Fictober '18 ("At least it can't get any worse."), but I feel as though it belongs here more than in that collection, especially considering the direction it took.
> 
> (Also, lines from Iokath make for excellent nightmare fodder!)


	6. Fantasies & Delusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place before Copero, in some nebulous time where Theron is still proving himself to the Order of Zildrog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've shifted this chapter to after the most recently posted chapter (Cafe Noir) - these two dorks spoke up out of order! So the newest chapter is actually Ch 5. Sorry for any hassle!

Theron crept along the wall, ever-closer to his target. He wasn’t sure what this poor bastard had done to upset Atrius and the rest of the Order, but he wasn’t in a position to question or argue. Hells, the only reason he’d agreed to an assassination was to get closer to Vinn and Sixteen, to further earn their trust, in order to gather more information for the Alliance.

Before arriving on Nar Shaddaa, he had dug up all the intel he could on this Ikkrukkian named Duvenar and what he found assuaged some of the guilt he felt about the hit. The target was a high-ranking member of the Exchange, and a rather vicious one at that: gang members, law enforcement, civilians – no one seemed to be off-limits.

As he closed in on the corner, he heard the target shuffling nearer. The steps had slowed, cautious, and Theron reached into his right boot to draw his blade. Briefly wishing for his old bracers with their toxic darts, he took as deep a breath as he dared, tightening his grip on the vibro-knife.

Straining to hear Duvenar’s precise location, he cursed the need to keep his implants inactive – they would have helped, had they not given away everything to Sixteen. Something was wrong, things just felt… off.

It was unnerving.

His handler’s voice crackled in his earpiece and confirmed the target and that he was set to go. Theron stepped forward smoothly, grabbing his target around the neck and sliding the blade perfectly between two ribs.

He made the mistake of looking at his target and froze in horror. “No,” he gasped out. Instead of orange skin, it was green, with dark brown hair pulled into a bun. A tiny whimper of pain escaped his victim as she crumpled to the floor, her features twisted in anguish and confusion, the spark in her violet eyes dimming.

“No,” he cried, dropping to the floor and cradling her limp form to his chest. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. Force, it was never supposed to be you.” He tenderly closed her empty eyes and brushed a wisp of hair out of her face, relaxed now in death, leaving a smear of blood near her temple. “Not you, sweetheart, oh, not you. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be you, I’m sorry, I love you. Oh, I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry…” He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, but she turned to dust in his arms, blowing away in the harsh wind whipping around him. 

* * *

Theron woke with a start, heart racing and tears blurring his vision. He instinctively ran a hand through his hair, but only found stubble on the side of his head. _Just a dream then_ , he thought. _It was just a dream, she’s still alive. Breathe_. Glancing around, he saw that he was alone in the Order’s sleeping quarters and heaved a sigh of relief. 

* * *

Across the base from the sleeping area, GEMINI 16 and Vinn Atrius were deep in conversation.

“Theron Shan is too soft for assassinations,” the droid insisted.

“What are you talking about? He did great. Everything went exactly to plan and that meddlesome gangster won’t be causing us any more problems.”

“He dreams about it still.”

“Yeah, well, I talked to him after you brought it up the _last_ time. Everybody has bad dreams, Sixteen. Except you, probably. Shan’s allowed to have ‘em, as long as they don’t affect his work with us. And they aren’t, so drop it. He won’t fail us.”

Having said his piece, Vinn turned and walked away, missing the suspicious glance the droid sent to the sleeping quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet was written as a contribution to Whumptober '18 - Poor Theron. :(


	7. Cold Snap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Copero and its repercussions weigh on Theron

Quiet desperation filled the shuttle as Theron and the rest of the House Inrokini defectors rushed to leave Copero behind, attempting to escape both the Eternal Alliance as well as their former allies. Rather than fear, frustration flooded Theron’s senses: he had to give the Alliance the slip when all he wanted was to walk away from this insanity and back into Sanna’s arms. But if he didn’t pass the map intel on to Vinn now, his charade would be exposed; Sixteen was still suspicious of him, regardless of how many times he’d proven himself a devoted member of the Order.

He’d left a trail – teeny, tiny breadcrumbs, but a trail nevertheless – and Lana was nothing if not thorough. He just had to play this game a little bit longer and then... hells, then he could–

An energy bolt tore through the shuttle, narrowly missing the passengers within. Theron spun around, hand on his blaster, and froze when the Alliance Commander rushed into the clearing, her new white armor rendering her all but unrecognizable. He blinked in shock when she pushed the rifle barrel down, stepping between the member of the Chiss Ascendancy – _a human?_ – and his shuttle. A gentle pressure in the back of his mind nearly made him weep with its warm familiarity, and time stood still as their eyes met.

_Theron?_ Oh, stars, her voice. He ached with how much he missed her. _Theron, please stop this. Come home and we can_ –

_No_ , he thought forcefully as he slammed his mental shielding further into place, blocking out the bond and the soft comfort their link offered. Despite the distance between them, Theron could have sworn that she flinched.

Hells, he couldn’t keep up this facade anymore. Swearing under his breath, he dragged his focus back to the present. He had to keep going. As much as he despised it, the mission wasn’t over yet. There was still too much at stake – he had to protect her from Atrius and the Order.

“End of the line, Theron!” Sanna’s shout echoed through the crisp air, and he did a double-take – had she meant to make a train pun?

“Go! I’ll hold them off!” Valss commanded, leaping out of the shuttle and Theron sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache at his temples. Why? Why did every Force-user he knew have to _literally_ jump headlong into things?

“You’ll never win!” he snarled in an attempt to keep the Chiss from doing anything reckless. It was the truth, but that didn't stop him from begging the Force to keep Sanna safe.

“Victory isn’t my fate, Theron. It’s yours.”

_Valss, you damned fool,_ he thought, anger building in his chest. _Don’t throw your life away for this, it's not worth it. And don't hurt her. Don't hurt her, don't hurt her, don't you dare hurt her or I'll end you myself._

“You heard the man,” Theron barked to his comrades. “Move out!”

The last thing he saw before the shuttle took off was the Chiss landing in an icy storm, saber activated and snow swirling wildly. Vassanna pulled up short in her rush forward, reluctantly drawing her own weapons, and he allowed himself to be _her_ Theron again, for one brief, bittersweet moment.

_I miss you, Sanna. Stay safe_. 

* * *

Theron paced in his shuttle with datapad in hand, having parted ways with the Chiss troops. He'd lost comm contact with Valss and, after betraying Zenta, he didn't dare contact House Inrokini to inquire about Valss's well-being. Even more frustrating, when Theron had forwarded the coordinates to the Order, neither Atrius nor Sixteen had any information. Which they _should_ , he thought with indignation, since they could observe so many beings and places. But of course, they didn’t know anything.

If he could just find out what happened to Valss, he’d know about Sanna.

Bouncing through every major (and minor) news source in the galaxy, Theron searched for any articles, any information to be had about the planet he'd just left behind. There wasn't a single mention of Copero or the Chiss, but clearly the Ascendancy would keep things quiet. Why wouldn't they?

He didn't find any announcements proclaiming the downfall of the Eternal Alliance or its Commander, either, so that was promising. Slicing into Alliance comm logs for verification was out of the question, unfortunately, because Sixteen would be alerted and inform Vinn. Theron could probably play it off as concern for Valss, but he wasn't sure if they'd buy it... and he was so close to being able to signal Lana that it was time to move against the Order.

And so his feet traced a path around the inside of the shuttle, for what was probably the thousandth time. It was almost meditative in its routine, though his current thoughts were troubled and whirled around him.

Theron wondered again, slightly panicked, what had happened after the shuttle door had closed. He was certain that Valss would have picked a fight: there was no way that he would have backed down, as invested as he was in that damned vision of his. But who had won?

He assumed, based on the fact that there was no response from Valss, that the Chiss was either dead or captured. A spike of terror lanced through him – what if Valss had beaten her, _killed_ her, and then gone straight to Atrius? What if she had died not knowing that his actions were all a ruse, thinking that he hated her?

His thoughts drifted to their Force bond: would he be able to feel it if something had happened to Sanna? Would he know if she died?

The comm rang, dragging him from his brooding, and he stalked across the shuttle to answer. Sixteen flickered into view on the dashboard, surveying him impassively with glowing red eyes. “Theron Shan. It appears the concern you expressed for your partner in House Inrokini was well-founded. I have acquired proof of the Chiss’s demise at the hands of the Outlander and her companion. Shall I forward it to you?”

He schooled his features into something resembling remorse for Valss and rage towards the Outlander and shook his head, mouth clamped shut; he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“As you wish. I have your next assignment from Vinn. You are to meet with a Pureblood Sith known as Servant One. He is vital to our success.” As Sixteen explained who the Imperial Force-user was, Theron’s stomach turned and his mind rebelled. He cautiously kept his mask on, however, nodding in approval and understanding. As he agreed to bring Servant One to join the rest of the Order on Nathema, part of his mind was already planning his next move.

No one knew where Zildrog had been hidden on that cursed planet, and that gave Theron the time he needed to slow the Order down a bit further. He'd adjusted the detonator used to destroy the map, which meant that enough of it should have fallen into Alliance hands. He knew Lana’s intelligence team would figure it out, he just had to stall the Order long enough. Another few weeks, maybe a month, and it would be time to call in the Alliance cavalry.

“I assume you understand the importance of this mission.”

Sixteen's statement snapped Theron back to the present in time to give an appropriate response, and the droid’s image flickered out as the call ended. Dropping into the pilot’s seat with a sigh, he dug his fingers into the base of his skull in an effort to stave off the growing tension headache that had plagued him on and off for the past months. It was partially from the stress, but partially his implants – Theron had disconnected them after leaving Umbara.

He still wasn't entirely sure if the droid could use them to eavesdrop, but he assumed the worst. Active – but lacking a holonet connection – they weren’t nearly as useful as they should have been. He could record his surroundings and conversations, upload data, and access any files stored in them, but that was about all they were good for... unless the trip switch was activated. He purposefully ignored the “Plan Zarek” program he’d set up, just in case he di– just in case.

With the implants inactive, his normal audio-visual boost had all but disappeared and the world felt dull and flat. Colors faded, tinged with greys, and everything was quieter. The lack of extra input made Theron feel as though he was walking around with his head in a pillow. He despised the feeling, but it seemed appropriate.

With a disgusted noise, he dragged himself out of his wallowing and replayed the last bit of Sixteen’s directive. A sly smirk slid onto the spy’s face and pride swelled in his heart: the best part of that comm call was hearing Vinn Atrius throwing a temper tantrum in the background, screaming about “that Void-damned Outlander” and how she must be immortal.

Theron sent a silent thanks to the Force as he input the coordinates for his trip into Imperial space and hoped this charade would be over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate title that my brain insisted on offering up for this chapter was "Cool Runnings." It still makes me giggle, so now you all get to roll your eyes and facepalm over it, too. :)


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of Zildrog is defeated and the charade ended, but with consequences no one saw coming until it was too late.

Theron struggled to stay upright, putting one foot in front of the other through willpower alone. Thank the stars for Lana, propping him up and keeping him from tumbling over; he didn’t trust his legs much right now, since they were trembling as though he’d just sprinted across half of Coruscant. His breath hitched and heat exploded in his chest. _Oh fuck, this hurts_. He tried to recall the meditation techniques that he’d learned from Master Zho a lifetime ago, but between the pain and worry, his focus was completely shot. He glanced around, searching for Vassanna. Thankfully, Lana appeared to be mostly unscathed, but what about Sanna? He had to find her.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart, but all it did was make his chest feel like a thermal detonator had gone off in his lungs again. _Idiot,_ he scolded himself. This was miserable; how in the hells had Sanna dealt with this on Asylum? He couldn’t believe that she’d _fought_ her way back to the Gravestone feeling like this. Granted, she’d had an evil ghost in her head that claimed to be helping her, but–

 _Oh shit. The Gravestone_.

He stopped so abruptly that Lana’s momentum pulled him forward, nearly causing them both to tumble to the ground before regaining their footing.

 _Fucking hells, Zildrog_. What happened with Zildrog? How much damage had the Order done to the Alliance? Had he still failed, after everything he’d done, everything he’d put them through? Lana was leading him to the stairway, to leave… without Sanna. Where was she? Did she … No, she made it. She had to have made it. Icy fear settled in his chest, curling up next to the fiery pain. _Sanna, where the hells are you? No no no, please be okay, don’t be de_ –

“Oh, for Force’s sake, Theron, she is _right there_ ,” Lana said as she gestured off to the side, exasperation in her voice.

“Oh.” Relief flooded him as he caught sight of the Mirialan, speaking animatedly into her wrist comm and pacing a hole in the stone floor. “‘er armor’s diff’r’nt….” His inane observation drew a raised eyebrow from the blonde.

“Yes, she’s changed it. Clearly.” Lana’s dry retort brought a small smirk to his face – he’d missed _her_ , too. “As have you. Now, if you would be so kind as to quit mumbling so I can concentrate? Else you might not make it to the ship.”

Theron closed his mouth with an audible snap, keeping his snarky response to himself; he leaned a bit more on his friend, trying to keep his wobbly legs from giving out as his gaze drifted towards the former Jedi. The white of her armor made her eyes stand out more – he definitely remembered that from Copero. Hells, how was she more beautiful than he’d remembered?

The world shifted beneath him and Theron’s knees hit the ground, pain shooting through his entire body. His vision went black for a moment and he couldn’t contain a moan. The only thing keeping him from completely crumpling to the floor was Lana’s arm around his ribs. _Hey, at least those aren’t broken this time. Now c'mon, Shan. Breathe. You know how to do this. Focus. Remember. Master Zho always said_ – His coherent thoughts were washed away by another wave of misery, ripping a groan from his throat.

When the pain ebbed, he forced himself to take one slow, shallow breath, and then another. On his third breath, he caught the sweetly floral scent of shampoo, one he must have imagined thousands of times over the past months. Theron looked over, dazed, as Sanna slipped under his other arm, bracing his weight against her shoulders, her hand grasping his wrist. For a brief moment, he felt as though he was being pulled apart before he found himself standing again, supported by the two closest people he had to family. His legs conspired against him, however, and the pressure on his chest increased.

“Hold on, Theron, we’re almost there,” Sanna whispered softly in his ear. “Just hold on. Stay with us.” He felt a sharp pinch near his hip, missing the concerned glance the women shared over his head.

“Should feel better now,” Lana murmured and Theron sighed as the cool tingling of a kolto shot flowed through him, stifling the blaze in his chest to a more bearable heat.

Time lost all meaning – he was seated now, propped up against… something, a wall of some sort. How and when he’d arrived at this place, he couldn’t say. _That’s probably not great_ , he mused. Lana was still on his left, head bent and hands on his torso as she worked with the Force; Vassanna was on his right, taking off his boots and socks.

(There was a smart-ass comment begging to be made about her taking off his clothes, but he was fairly certain this was neither the time nor the place.)

Even if he’d wanted, Theron wasn’t able to stop staring at Sanna. Sitting this close to her for the first time in far too many months, able to reach out and actually touch her… damn, he’d missed her. Guilt swept through him as he noticed the smudges below her eyes; he was sure they were darker than when he’d left. She seemed to be thinner, too, but it was hard to tell with her new armor.

Cracks formed in the Jedi mask she was wearing, evidenced by the smallest of frowns she wore and whatever she was mumbling under her breath. If only his implants were active, he might have been able to pick up what she was saying. Blinking hard in an attempt to remove the black spots from his vision, Theron focused on her lips, taking the old-fashioned route.

“–die. Not like this, not yet, don’t die, don’t die. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, please don’t die….”

Hope swelled in his heart. Perhaps Sanna could forgive him after all was said and done – he just had to live long enough, just had to make it back home.

 _Home_.

Her face blurred and he blinked again to bring her lovely violet eyes back into focus. It worked only briefly before she dissolved into shadows. _No, don’t leave me here sweetheart. Please, please stay_ , he thought desperately, reaching for her. A grimace twisted his face and he groaned as he pulled at his wound, doubling over. Theron tried again to slip into a meditative state, but every time he grasped hold of his concentration, it slipped from his fingers, tugged away by the intense pain searing its way through his body. The heat was an odd contrast to the suddenly-cold temperature surrounding him and he shivered as the chilled, stale air seeped into his bones.

“Theron!” Sanna’s voice sounded strange to his ears – how’d she get so far away? He was certain that he’d just felt her cool fingers on his. His heart lurched at the possibility that Sixteen or Atrius had gotten their filthy hands on her.

No, wait. He’d shot Vinn – and it was worth all the pain in the galaxy. That rotten bastard worshipped the monster who’d tormented Vassanna for years.

Theron had expected that ingratiating himself with Vinn and the Order would be difficult and repugnant at times, but he hadn’t expected the most difficult thing to be dealing with near-constant monologuing. Atrius had two preferred topics, upon which he could prattle for hours: how wonderful and amazing Valkorion had been for Zakuul, and how the Outlander – the terrible, murderous, and evil person that she was – had ruined everything. It had taken every bit of Theron’s self-control to play along and not punch him in the face as he so richly deserved.

 _Focus, Shan. Find Sanna. You have to find her before it’s too late_. Dragging his eyes open, he was surprised to see her face mere centimeters from his, her eyes wide.

“San…” He tried again to reach for her, but his arm wouldn’t obey his commands. He needed to be sure that she was okay, that Lana was okay, but he couldn’t… couldn’t…

“Theron?”

Was that fear in her voice? _Just be okay, sweetheart. Not sure I can keep you safe anymore. I tried. I’m so sorry_ , he thought. Her hands were blessedly cool on his face and he managed to meet her gaze again. _I love you_.

“Theron, please. _Stay_.”

 _I asked you first_ , he thought as she faded from his sight.

* * *

“No no no, just breathe, you’ll be all right. The kolto tank’s almost ready, just stay _still_ ,” Sanna pleaded, nearly ripping Theron’s other glove off so she could finish removing his grey duster; panic made her hands clumsy and slow, and they shook uncontrollably. “Please, Lana’s having a hard enough time keeping you – Theron!” He had curled into a ball with a groan, knocking the Sith back slightly and disrupting her Force-healing. Sanna grabbed the spy’s shoulders and pulled him upright, doing her best to ignore the way he trembled and the pained moan that escaped his lips. She breathed a small sigh of relief as he opened his eyes, but they went unfocused almost immediately.

“Theron?” Fear welled up in her throat, threatening to drown her; her hands found his cheeks, scratchy with stubble. _Oh stars, you’re so pale. Please don’t go, not yet, not like this_. His whiskey-colored eyes were unreadable as he pulled his gaze to hers, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a fleeting smile.

“Oh no, Theron, please. _Stay_.” His eyes fluttered closed and she cried out a denial as he went limp, his head slumping forward. Without thinking, Sanna tilted his face up and pressed her lips to his. Pulling back, she frantically searched for a response, smothering a whimper.

“That didn’t work. It always works in the holos,” she whispered, trembling. “Why didn’t it work? Theron? Theron, wake up, open your eyes. _Please_.”

His Force-signature sputtered like a flame in the wind and he listed to the side, slipping against the durasteel wall of her cousin’s ship. She kept one hand on his upper arm to keep him upright; her other hand rested tenderly on his cheek as she studied his face.

Lana’s head was bowed in concentration as she wove the Force through Theron and his injury. Brushing her thumb along his cheek once more, Sanna moved her hand to the Sith’s shoulder in unspoken permission to take whatever Force energy was necessary to keep Theron alive.

 _No no no, not like this, not yet. We’re supposed to have a different future than this, I saw it. Please_ , she begged the Force, _do something, anything! Not like this, please not_ –

Vassanna started as a large, furry hand came to rest on her shoulder. Bowdaar shooed her away from the spy and – with a touch far gentler than one would expect of a Wookiee with “Boneshatterer” as an alias – scooped Theron up at Lana’s nod, carrying him to the waiting kolto tank.

Time seemed to grind to a halt, yet fly past at once. Lana slumped against her in exhaustion, and the two women sat on the floor, shaking and staring at the tank’s monitor as it beeped out data on Theron’s vital signs. The _Star Chaser_ ’s medbay wasn’t the newest or sleekest, but – like the rest of the ship – “has it where it counts,” according to Captain Nabeshin.

As he stabilized in the kolto, Vassanna rested her head on Lana’s and whispered, “Thank you, Lana, for –” _For healing him. For keeping him alive. Oh stars, let him be okay_.... “For everything.”

The Sith’s response was a weak nod and an “of course” that was more hum than actual words.

“I suppose I should thank you for doing a practice run on Asylum for me,” Lana said. They exchanged a sad smile, remembering the frantic haze of those early months after “the Outlander” had been freed from carbonite, but before they arrived on Odessen. “The healing itself was almost easier this time around, as I knew what would be most effective. However, I didn’t have to haul _you_ around while trying to heal you – and I believe you had some extra assistance as well.”

“‘Extra assistance.’ That’s one way to put it,” Sanna said, snorting inelegantly. “Why don’t you go take a rest?” she asked as her advisor attempted to conceal another yawn. “Maybe have a quick shower and then sleep. Recharge. It’s been a long and interesting couple of days. Weeks. _Months_ , if we’re being honest.”

“Normally, I’d argue with you,” Lana said with a sigh, “but I can hardly keep my eyes open. That _was_ more difficult than I’m used to.” Glancing over at Theron, floating peacefully in the kolto, she gave Sanna a pointed look. “You should certainly do the same. Don’t just sit here; that’ll help no one.”

Meeting her golden eyes, Vassanna nodded. “I’ll find you if we need you. Rest well, Lana.”

The blonde dragged herself off the floor and, giving Sanna an encouraging pat on the shoulders, headed towards the crew’s quarters; fatigue was clear in her every movement. Sighing heavily, the Jedi settled into a light meditation in an attempt to fend off her own exhaustion.

“Nope!” Eli’anara piped up from the doorway, startling her cousin, before coming to stand in front of her. “You’re up for a shower an’ a nap, too. Captain’s quarters are empty an’ your bag’s already there, waitin’ for you.”

“I’m not going to take your room, Ellie,” she said, shaking her head.

“‘Course you are. Wouldn’t wanna be rude and not accept something that’s given to you.” Before Vassanna could protest further, Ellie held up her hand. “Just go, cuz. I’ll keep an eye on your Spy Guy…” she trailed off awkwardly. “If, uh… if he’s still yours? I mean, I’ll keep an eye on him regardless, I s’ppose.”

“I, umm… we didn’t really–” The Captain waved her off again.

“Eh, either way, just go. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens, I promise. You two can cross that bridge later; he’s clearly not going anywhere,” she said with a small smirk, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to point at the kolto bath.

Sanna walked to Ellie and Corey’s room in a haze, showering and changing into her casual clothing on autopilot. She laid down on the bed but couldn’t relax enough to meditate or sleep, despite her best efforts. Every time she closed her eyes, a scene with Theron would play out on the back of her eyelids: Nathema, Umbara, Iokath… even Yavin and Rishi. Giving up on rest with a sigh, she hauled herself out of bed and headed back to medbay.

Captain Nabeshin didn’t seem surprised to see her walk through the door. “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, and Vassanna shook her head, leaning against a table and folding her arms across her chest. “Mind keep replaying things on a loop and ya can’t quite stop it?” The Jedi fixed her with a stare before nodding slightly. “Nah, I’m not spying on you or anything; you’re just not the first to nearly lose the one ya love, cousin. The waiting’s the worst.”

Ignoring the curiosity in Sanna’s gaze, Eli’anara continued her one-sided conversation. “Want a book? Holo-film? Distractions are good,” she said, placing a datapad in her cousin’s hands. “Read something. There are tons of novels on here. Don’t just sit and stare, you’ll go crazy.”

“Who’s to say I’m not already a little crazy?” Sanna asked. _I’m the one who thought I could somehow get everyone in this galaxy to get along and finally have peace_ , she mused bitterly. _That was crazy_ and _stupid_.

Ellie snorted. “Can’t help ya there, cuz.” She let out a wistful sigh, glancing towards the kolto tank. “Guess I won’t be sucker punching him yet for what he did to you, huh?”

“What? No!” Sanna leveled a serious look at her cousin, shaking her head. “No reprisals, from _anyone_. Theron was on our side the whole time.”

“Aww, you’re no fun at all, cousin. And I was kidding! Mostly.” Finally buckling under the no-nonsense glare from her cousin, Ellie sighed heavily. “ _Fiiiiine_ , I pinky-promise that won’t punch him. Unless he does something else stupid.”

Smirking as she walked out the door, the Captain pointed to a fluffy, comfortable-looking chair that Sanna was certain hadn’t been there before. “Enjoy your books,” she said over her shoulder.

Vassanna glanced at the monitor before forcing herself to sit on the edge of the chair and peruse the titles on the datapad, tapping her toes restlessly on the floor. She scrolled through pages and pages of novels, eventually choosing one at random; swiping to the opening page, she read the first paragraph, then the second.

 _You mean everything to me_.

Theron’s words echoed in her mind and she blinked, trying to read the paragraphs again.

 _I’d do anything to protect you_.

And again.

 _You know I love you, Sanna_.

Her own words were the next to haunt her, thrown at Theron from a place of hurt and petty anger.

 _So you betrayed the Order too. You have quite a track record_.

Shame and guilt filled her as she recalled how easily she’d allowed her emotions to get the better of her. “Oh, stars – the look on his face,” she whispered. Sanna glanced back down at the screen in a final attempt to read, but the words were blurry and she blinked away tears.

She stood in frustration, flinging the datapad onto the table near the kolto tank. It skittered into the neatly folded stack of Theron’s clothing before tipping the pile over, and Sanna snatched up the grey duster as it slipped to the floor.

Noticing the red patch on the shoulder, she huffed out a small chuckle. “Of _course_ it has red on it. Have you ever owned a jacket that _wasn’t_ red?” She shook her head with the tiniest of smiles and held the coat out to fold it. The smile disappeared and her breath caught in her throat as her eyes were drawn to the scorched hole in the back, just the width of a lightsaber blade.

“Oh Force, let him live,” she whispered. “Please let him live…” Sanna clutched the jacket to her chest as her gaze flew to the monitor on the kolto tank, the steady beeping and regular notifications it displayed reassuring her. She looked up at the ceiling of the medical bay, blinking furiously in an effort to contain the tears that threatened to overflow. After taking a deep breath to calm herself, then another, she gently folded Theron’s coat and placed it carefully next to the rest of his clothes, her fingers hovering on them longer than strictly necessary.

Resting her hands on the table, she hung her head as a sniffle escaped. _Emotion, yet peace_ , she thought, taking a deep, shuddering breath before exhaling slowly. “Emotion, yet peace,” she murmured, breathing deeply again as her eyes closed. “Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death–” she stopped abruptly, unable to finish the phrase that was meant to offer comfort. Her eyes flew open and she pivoted, walking briskly across the room.

Vassanna stood helplessly in front of the kolto tank, fingers idly touching the transparisteel near Theron’s hand, as if to hold it. “You can’t die yet. Please, you _can’t_.” She paused, swallowing away the tremor in her voice before donning the mantle of Alliance Commander, hands clasped behind her back.

“Agent Shan, you will not die,” she bit out. “Do you hear me? That is a direct order from your commanding officer. If you disobey, I will not hesitate to toss you in the brig. Or perhaps I’ll just stick you on desk duty for the next year. When we get home, there will be a _serious_ discussion about mission parameters and approvals, as well as their consequences. Am I understood?” Her tone was crisp and brooked no argument, though Theron was in no position to do so.

She blinked in surprise – had he actually nodded? _No, don’t be ridiculous_ , she chided, shaking her head to refocus.

“Excellent. You may expect a notice regarding a meeting time when we arrive on Odessen.”

With that, the Mirialan shifted slightly, wilting as the façade of Alliance Commander faded away, leaving behind a heartbroken woman staring at her injured lover.

“Why?” she cried, hugging her arms to herself. “You _hurt_ me and I’m so… so _upset_ with you. Why couldn’t you trust me? There had to have been a way to tell me, so I didn’t have to… and I… and _you_ ….” Her words trailing off, Sanna rested her forehead against the kolto tank with a small thud, her eyes burning with tears she could no longer blink away. A sob shook her shoulders, then another. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Theron.”

Closing her eyes and clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry, she stood there for what felt like ages, reciting the Code and trying to calm down. Turning her back to the tank, she leaned against it and slid down to the floor, knees tucked to her chest.

She buried her face in her arms and wept for the first time since the weeks after Umbara.


	9. One Foot in Front of the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This song](https://youtu.be/05v4nfUmBYI) featured heavily in Sanna & Theron's "kiss and make up" playlist, hence the title.
> 
> _Oh, through the wilderness_   
>  _How come even together there can be loneliness?_   
>  _Oh, our heart's a mess_   
>  _But it's our only defense to brave the wilderness_   
>  _Cross my heart and hope to die_   
>  _Taking this one step at a time_   
>  _I got your back if you got mine_   
>  _One foot in front of the other_

“I'll... give you two some privacy.”

Theron nodded his thanks to Lana as she walked away, then turned to face Sanna.

“Take a walk with me?” he asked, trying to ignore the pang in his heart and the flip-flop of his stomach when she couldn't hide a brief flash of panic before that damned Jedi mask of hers slipped into place.

“You're still recovering and should be in medbay, not traipsing around Odessen,” she said tersely, her gaze drawn to his torso and the bandages hidden beneath his patched grey shirt.

“I've been cleared for a short walk around base, so long as I have someone with me,” Theron said, soft and entreating, and he extended a hand to her. She simply stared at it and a heavy, oppressive stillness filled the space between them. “Please, Sanna? I’m trying to follow your orders.” When her features twisted in confusion, his stomach sank. Had he completely made up that lecture of hers while he was in the kolto tank? “I’m sorry, I thought–” He shook his head in chagrined dismissal of his abysmal memory: between the pain medication and nightmares, he barely knew what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

“I could have sworn that you’d told me we were going to have a meeting when we got home about mission parameters. I was actually kinda looking forward to a little bit of desk duty after all this mess,” Theron said, a rueful grin playing on his lips as she gawked, mouth slightly open. “Yeah, I know. Ten-years-ago-me would be shocked and appalled, too.”

It was probably better that the muffled, one-sided conversation he remembered was only a fever-dream; it meant that she hadn’t cried so bitterly and–

“You heard that?” Vassanna’s voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide. “But you were...” She took a ragged breath and closed her eyes.

Dammit, he hated being right sometimes. Mentally shaking himself, Theron took as deep a breath as he could manage. If he was going to talk to her, to explain and apologize, he needed to forge ahead.

“Will you please walk with me, Sanna?” Theron offered her his hand once more and, after what seemed like an eternity, received a curt nod. She gestured for him to lead before clasping her hands behind her back; he stepped forward, turning toward the door, and pretended to not notice how badly her hands were shaking.

They wandered through the grounds in silence as he summoned up the courage to confess all his sins of the past year, and once collected, he had no idea where to start. He hadn’t been certain that he’d get this far, that he’d make it home, and was lacking a plan. Flying by the seat of his pants wasn’t a new experience for him, but this? This was important, more important than anything and he needed it to be _right_.

Funny – his hands were shaking, too.

“I, um. I don’t really know where to start. I just want– _augh_.” Theron doubled over, eyes squeezed shut, his hand coming up to cradle his torso as he took a careful breath around the fiery explosion in his chest. Pulling up the chrono on his recently-reactivated implants, he realized that he was due for another dose of pain medication. He probably shouldn’t have declined the medic’s offer of new painkillers in his rush to leave medbay and find Vassanna. Not hurting would have been nice, but the pills made his world feel foggy, hazy around the edges. He'd take pain over fog; he needed to be able to focus on this conversation, it was absolutely crucial.

A hand – _her_ hand – came to rest gently on his elbow and her soft voice cut through the ache in his chest.

“Theron?” The worry in her question tugged at his heart and he pried his eyes open, meeting her concerned gaze. “There’s a large stone a couple of meters away – can you make it there? We can sit and you can rest.”

Hope flowed through him, soothing the heat in his chest with its serene glow, and he nodded. As soon as it was clear that Theron could walk on his own, however, Sanna pulled her hand back.

It was remarkable how that simple act left him feeling bereft.

She offered her arm again as they reached the small, flat boulder to help him sit, and he held on a moment longer than he needed to. She wouldn’t look at him but perched on the edge of the rock just within arm’s reach.

In the quiet of the meadow, Theron inspected Sanna from head to toe: her hair was braided and twisted into a bun, the usual flyaways fluttering in the light breeze. She wore black again, the new outfit resembling Jedi robes more than anything else she’d worn in ages – there were even two narrow capelets flowing from the dark brown leatheris pauldrons. The knee-high boots coordinated and, like the rest of the ensemble, appeared to be made for comfort rather than combat. Without any defensive plating in her clothing, he could see that his first assessment on Nathema proved correct: she was definitely thinner. He felt another crack form in the heart he’d tried so desperately to bury after his faux-betrayal and added another offense to his list of crimes against her.

“Every night since I left, I’ve had the same nightmare.” The words slipped from his lips without thought or plan, as though they needed to be uttered, whether he willed it or not. “You’re walking away – and no matter how fast I run, I can’t catch up. Leaving you there on Umbara... it destroyed me, Sanna. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for what I did.”

She looked down at her nails, plucking at an already-torn cuticle – when had she picked up _that_ habit? – and closed her eyes with a small sigh. After his first confession, the floodgates opened: Theron explained his actions, from first discovering the Order of Zildrog to waiting for her and Lana to arrive on Nathema and everything in between. He spared no detail, gave no excuses, and took complete responsibly for what he'd done. Vassanna sat, still and without a sound, listening to all that he shared. Her eyes were focused on the grassy field before them; sometimes shut tight, often simply staring at a fixed point, but never once did her gaze find him.

He understood why, of course, but it gnawed at his soul regardless. Any time she would let herself be vulnerable around him by talking about something that hurt or that she was afraid of, Sanna avoided eye contact. It made it easier for her to confront her fears, her feelings, her past. Theron remembered back to his tiny apartment on Coruscant, just before she'd left for Wild Space: she’d turned out all the lights before curling up in his arms to tell him about the first time she had faced the Sith Emperor.

Since joining the Alliance on Odessen and officially beginning their relationship, he’d learned to give her that space, to be a wall between her and whatever hurt. He never would have imagined that one day his actions would rank on par with Vitiate’s.

“Son of a _fucking_ Hutt.” Her snarled expletive snapped Theron out of his brooding and she leaped up as though stuck by a pin, pacing frantically with hands clenched. He stared, dumbfounded: Sanna rarely swore and, if she did, ‘kriff’ was generally the strongest word she threw around.

“So it was true,” she hissed. “You brought Lana in, but not _me?_ What did I do that made me so untrustworthy? How did I let you down? How?” she screamed, any semblance of emotional control gone. “What did I do? What _didn't_ I do? I don't understand. I mean, you knew I wouldn't, you didn't _expect_ me to, but...” She hurled his own words back in his face, dripping with disdain, and it stung as they sliced through him. Was that a glimmer of purple ghosting over her hands? No, it was just a trick of the light through the trees – it had to be.

“You probably need to use tiny little words to explain it to me. Was it because I was dumb enough to not see it coming, to believe every pretty lie that came out of your mouth?” She whirled on him, jabbing an accusing finger at his chest. “Because you certainly said _everything_ I wanted to hear. Did you even mean it when you agreed to go away with me? Where did your lies stop? Where did they _start?_ How many did I fall for?”

The wildfire that blazed in her eyes, in her very soul, burned fast and furious, leaving her a charred and wilted husk as it died out as quickly as it had been lit.

“And here I thought you actually wanted the same thing as me,” Sanna whispered, heartrendingly subdued. “That you wanted a future with... Ugh, I’m so stupid.” She shook her head and turned away from him.

Oh. So this was what watching your world shatter felt like. With all he'd done, what he'd put her through, how did this hurt worse than anything yet? If Umbara and its fallout had broken him, then this... oh hells, this tore what was left to shreds.

“No, I do,” Theron choked out. “I want that... you... _us_. I want you more than anything. I said it before – you mean _everything_ to me. The things I told you, wrote to you while I was...” How could he explain how awful he felt, how his gut twisted and he wanted to melt into the ground with shame every time he thought about the terrible things he’d done? “The message I sent. Please, I need you to know–”

“That it was orchestrated by the GEMINI droid,” she interrupted sharply. “Yes, you've mentioned that. You still wrote the words and sent it, Theron, even if none of it was true.”

“But there were truths in there, I swear. I had to hide them though, bury them in lies.” Her face fell briefly before her mask slipped back into place, and Theron realized he was not explaining things well. Dammit, he should have had a better plan. His heart raced, panic and despair drowning him. “I love you,” he blurted out, and words tumbled from his lips. “Even if I didn’t realize it then, I loved you from the moment we met. You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me and hells, I wanted to run away with you, so much... I even started planning after we talked about it, even though I knew... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Vassanna, for everything. Everything.”

“How _could_ you?” she cried through clenched teeth. “You said such awful things! And just because you say you're sorry and that you love me, I'm supposed to pretend that nothing happened? Like everything’s magically back to normal?”

“No. No, I'm not saying that at all. I–” He attempted to stand but gave up with a grunt of pain. “Look, I know it’s a shitty excuse, but when I first realized what was going on, that it was an entire conspiracy, I freaked out. I jumped right into ‘how do I stop this, how do I unravel this plot.’ I never meant to leave you out on purpose.” Desperation drove his words faster, until he was rambling, words tripping over one another in their rush to be spoken. “Everything just happened so much faster than I expected and they were _watching_ and I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t fucking figure it out,” he snarled, furious at his own inability to stop the charade before it started.

“I only brought Lana in at the last minute. She didn't get much of explanation, because I had literally half a minute unobserved and I needed someone I trusted to look out for you while I was gone. Please, I need you to know that the only reason I did any of this was to keep you _safe._ ” Theron couldn’t keep his voice from breaking and he struggled to speak. “Vinn wasn’t going to rest until you were wiped from the galaxy – and the Alliance with you. I did what I did to protect you and our people.” He paused, searching for the right words to express the sheer terror that had stolen through him when he discovered the extent of Atrius’s plans.

“And I couldn’t lose you again, Sanna,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I couldn’t do it... not again, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t...” He could barely stomach the _thought_ of her dying, of losing her forever – having to actually live through that once more would destroy him, piece by piece. He wasn’t strong enough.

The silence blanketing the field was broken only by the chirping of birds and buzz of insects, each of them lost in their own thoughts. She'd sunk back down onto the rock after a few moments, barely within reach, head bowed and curled into herself.

Theron had no idea where they stood, but the only thing running through his mind was how much harm he’d done and how there was really no way to make it up to her, to make it right. Maybe the kindest thing at this point was for him to let Sanna go – if it was what she wanted, he’d do it. It might kill him, but he would do it. The knowledge that she was safe now would have to be enough to carry him through.

“I, umm.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m happy to– well, ‘happy’ isn’t quite the right word, but what I mean is: I can do whatever you’d like, whatever you need to give you _peace_ going forward.” Theron floundered, words dying on his tongue as he remembered that disastrous conversation they'd had a week after his staged betrayal. Every word was seared into his memory: she'd told him that _he_ brought her peace.

How far he'd fallen.

“I’ll move into my own quarters. I’ll even leave Odessen if that–” He swallowed hard. “If it’ll make things easier, _better_ for you. I know you said the Alliance needs me, but you and Lana did a great job on your own. I can be an emissary or something... or not. I think Marcus Trant would at least have a chat with me, if not help me find something else.”

 _Maybe_ Marcus could help him – if he was lucky – but Theron’s spy career was pretty well washed up at this point. Though he supposed there was always analytics...

He could barely look at her anymore; it hurt too much, thinking about never seeing her again. But he didn’t want to waste a single second of whatever time he had left. Summoning up the last of his courage, he rested a tentative hand on her knee and tried to meet her gaze once again.

“Or, um, I– I know I don’t deserve it, but maybe you can give your idiot spy boyfriend one more chance?”

Sanna's mask cracked and a sob escaped as she turned her face away, fingers digging into her upper arms, as though holding herself together. The hope that had sprung up within him turned to ash and his heart crumbled; there truly was no coming back from what he'd done. The small part of him that had imagined a tearful-yet-loving reunion was crushed beneath the terrible weight of this moment.

 _You can do this_ , Theron told himself. _You've walked away from her before and survived. You can do it again_.

Steeling himself, he tried to pull his hand back from her knee, but his arm wouldn't obey. Everything in him – every muscle, every nerve ending, every molecule of his existence – screamed and shouted at him to hold on, don't let go, don't ever let her go again. He struggled to move once more, stomping down the urge to pull her close, and somehow managed to lift his hand away –

And a hand grasped his own, clutching so tightly that ragged nails dug into his palm.

“It's not just the Alliance that needs you,” Sanna whispered, ever so quietly. She turned to finally meet his gaze, tears streaming down her cheeks, and there were more emotions flickering in her eyes than he could decipher. “Don’t leave. It’s not my place to give out ‘chances,’ so we’ll just have to figure out how to fix this. Fix us. Together, as a team. Whatever comes. Just... _stay._ ”

Theron stared in disbelief as she dashed the tears from her face. Was she serious? Or was he dreaming again? He leaned forward gingerly, cradling her damp cheek in his free hand, thumb brushing away a fresh tear. She certainly felt real and he let himself relax.

“Thank the stars,” he gasped. “I swear, I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you, how very much you mean to me.” Vassanna made a sound that was some combination of a sob and a laugh, breathy and strained.

“Be careful, Theron Shan. That sounded an awful lot like a marriage proposal.” They both froze when Sanna's teasing words sank in and, in halting, half-spoken phrases, danced clumsily around the topic at hand, stepping on the other’s words.

“W– what? I didn’t– I mean, if you really... do you?”

“No, no, you don't– what I meant was– but you don’t have to–”

“Wait, do you _not_ –”

“I didn’t mean– you don’t need–”

“Will you, um... well, you know...”

“Okay, stop. Stop,” Vassanna said, hands raised conciliatorily. “This probably isn't the best time to have this discussion. You just got back.” Her hands fell to her lap, shoulders slumping. “And you were gone for so long and you– you _hurt_ me. And oh stars I’m still _so angry_ at you.” Theron heard a soft crackle and his eyes widened at the pale purple light flickering over her fisted hands: it hadn’t just been the light through the trees. What had he missed? Was this because of ... oh no.

“But there’s this part of me that wants to hurt you, too. What is _wrong_ with me?” she asked, jumping up from her seat once more and holding her head in her hands. Sanna paced back and forth before him a few times, then stopped abruptly. Her eyes fluttered closed and she hugged her arms to herself. Theron wanted so badly to hold her, comfort her, but he didn’t know if it would make things better or worse.

“Then Atrius, he– and you– oh stars, you almost died. You almost _died._ ” With a shuddering breath, she began pacing again, gesturing wildly. “I almost lost you and I couldn’t do anything about it, I just had to stand there and watch. I couldn’t do _anything_ and I have never felt more helpless in my entire life, not even when....” Shaking her head, Sanna dug her fists into her hips. “I could feel you slipping away and–” She gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob. “And even with it broken, I could still feel you drifting and...” Her muffled words dissolved into tears, shoulders shaking.

Theron stared, processing what she’d said. “What broke?” he asked, heart in his throat. She paused mid-step, bottom lip between her teeth, and shook her head. He stood gingerly, unable to keep from reaching for her face, her arm. “Sanna, what else did I do to you?” She shook her head again. His mind dragged him back to Copero, as he’d made his escape, leaving Valss to stall the Alliance. Sanna had reached out to him through their link and he’d shut her out quickly; the temptation to abandon his self-appointed mission was too great. What little he’d heard of her pleading with him to come home had sounded distant, muted. As though the reception on the holo was bad and–

He deflated, eyes closing as realization snapped into place.

Theron thought back to the day she'd told him about the Force bond they shared, more than two years ago now. Like anything related to the Force, he was cynical, but in spite of his skepticism, she’d been so earnest, so convinced of its significance and how special it was. To be contrary, he'd dared her to show him.

She had and, hells, it was amazing. Unlike anything he'd ever known. What had he done?

“Did– did it snap? Like the others? Please tell me.” Theron didn't really want an answer, but he owed her that much: knowing _exactly_ what he'd put her through.

“No, it–” she began, faltering. “It cracked, broke into pieces.”

“Does it hurt?” She shook her head at his hesitant question.

“Not anymore.”

“Not _anymore?_ Fucking hells, I– wait.” Theron stilled, gawking in disbelief mixed with wonder. “You said we’re gonna fix this. You still want me back, after that? After all the–”

She cut off his incredulous questions with a kiss, her lips slanting over his and wrapping her arms around his neck. His hand raised of its own volition to run through his hair – the way he'd confirmed whether or not he was dreaming while with the Order – but he threw caution to the wind and returned the kiss fiercely.

If this was a dream, he'd enjoy it while he could and deal with reality later.

Vassanna felt solid and so heartachingly familiar as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. He slid a hand up her spine, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck. Hells, this seemed so _real_. Theron sent a small prayer to the Force, begging for this to not be a dream, for her to be here in his arms, to be _home_. Her tongue darted between his lips, sending a thrill down his spine, and he arched closer to her with a rough, little sound of desire in the back of his throat that quickly turned into a yelp of pain as he aggravated his injury.

“Oh no!” she cried. “I'm so sorry, sit down. I don’t have anything for... Oh, Theron, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

Determined that he wasn't going to be the reason for more of her tears, he kissed her again, soft and tender, despite the ache in his chest. His hands cradled her jaw, thumbs brushing her cheeks, and he poured every emotion rattling around in his heart into that kiss, his discomfort fading as she carefully leaned into his touch.

Nuzzling Sanna’s nose with his as he pulled away, Theron rested his forehead on hers. “But _why_?” he whispered brokenly. “After everything I did, everything I– How could you possibly want– I don’t understand, San.” Her first answer was a shrug, accompanied by a small, heartbreakingly sad smile.

“Because you’re you. And you’re _mine_. There haven’t been many things or beings in my life that I claimed as my own and...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed, but he saw her mouth the words “you’re mine” again and he couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“You’re under my skin, tangled up in my heart, in every breath I take and I can’t...” She blinked away tears, her breath hitching, and shook her head. Grasping his lapel gently, she absently ran the fabric between her finger and thumb.

“I believe you,” she said, her voice cracking. “I understand why you thought you had to do what you did... the _way_ you did. You have a good heart, good intentions, and did the best you could with what intel and tools you had. Though if you’d just talked to me from the beginning, you could have had _me_ on your team, too and–” Sanna cut herself off with sharp inhale and let out a slow, calming breath, the frown slipping from her features.

“I forgive you. I still don’t like it and I can’t– I _won’t_ pretend that it didn’t hurt, Theron.” She met his gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears and he kissed her forehead. “But I want to fix things. I want _us_ back.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, a teardrop streaking down her cheek. “I know it won’t be easy, but I don’t want to do this without you. I missed you.” Her palm slid to the bandage wrapped around his chest and her features crumbled, chin trembling. “Oh, and then you almost...”

Theron pulled Sanna – _his_ Jedi once more – into his arms, hand cradling the back of her head, holding her as close as he could. He dropped kisses on her hair, her temple, above her ear, and murmured reassurances and apologies and all the soft, sweet words of love he’d kept bottled up for months.

He thanked the Force and every deity in the galaxy for this chance to make things right. Theron swore to himself at that moment that he’d never hurt her again and that he’d follow through on his vow to ensure that Sanna knew how very much he loved her, _treasured_ her, above everything else.

He would love and cherish her until they were one with the Force, and then on until the end of time.


	10. Kissing Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Taking this one step at a time, I got your back if you got mine_
> 
>  
> 
> Slowly, carefully, Theron and Sanna begin to mend.

The first night that Theron spent in the Commander's quarters after escaping medbay, Vassanna had slept on the couch.

She'd claimed it was nothing new and she hadn’t wanted to accidentally hurt him in her sleep. The thought of her curled up alone on the sofa every night for months, the bed pristinely made and completely ignored, broke his heart anew; he wondered again how he could have screwed things up so badly.

It had been a week now since he’d returned to their rooms. Five whole days. Things were mostly fine between them during the day, but nights... nights were the hardest. They both fell back into old patterns, wrapping the habits of the past year around themselves like a security blanket.

Theron wanted to let Sanna take the time that she needed to be comfortable around him again. There were a handful of occasions when she’d startled quicker than a wild daubird at the slightest touch from him, on her elbow or her back, and he’d felt like a monster. He didn't want to push her, but he was concerned – no, he admitted to himself, he was  _terrified_ – that they wouldn't be able to change this lonely routine of theirs. He needed to make things right, to put things back together the way that they used to be. Well, as close as he could.

And so, as Sanna finished her nightly ablutions, Theron waited patiently outside the ‘fresher, where he was definitely not pacing.

Okay, he was pacing.

Thoughts ran rampant and no amount of meditative tricks could contain them or put them in any sort of order. Doubts swirled through him, obscuring the bright hope sparked by their brutally honest conversation when they’d first returned to Odessen. For kriff’s sake, he could talk his way into infiltrating the enemy, cozying up to them with no problem, yet he couldn't talk to the person he loved without screwing things up? Pathetic.

He sighed in irritation laced with embarrassment and swore under his breath, remembering the mess he’d made trying to ask Sanna to marry him. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted her, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Hells, he’d known years ago that he wanted to be with her forever. He just hadn't expected her to bring it up first, and definitely not at that point in time. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed again.

How in all the hells was he going to fix this?

(He should probably bring up his fears and guilt in his next re-acclimation therapy session: the mandatory meetings with his counselor were standard procedure when an Alliance member came back from a harrowing mission – and nearly dying after most of a year in deep cover was definitely classified as “harrowing.”

Regardless, the sessions seemed to be going fairly well. Theron was doing a lot of talking to a Jedi Empath, though he wasn't sure that simple chatter would truly help his nightmares go away. The paranoia was fading, thankfully.

At least, he  _thought_ it was.)

Theron nearly jumped out of his boots when Vassanna opened the ‘fresher door, so entrenched was he in his thoughts. She looked as surprised as he felt to find herself face to face with an anxious, pacing wreck who was muttering to himself.

“Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly.

“Uh, yeah. I'm fine. All fine here now, thanks,” Theron stammered, and she didn’t appear convinced. “Everything's perfectly all right.”

“If you’re sure,” she said, excusing herself. She slipped past him to the bed and took her pillow with a small smile, but he grabbed her hand before she could make her way to the sofa, squeezing it.

“Wait,” Theron said, hushed. “Stay with me tonight. Please, Sanna.”

A look of uncertainty flickered across her features before she met his gaze, that damned Jedi mask firmly in place. “Okay.”

“Oh,” he said, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. “Okay, great.” Relief flooded his chest and it was exponentially easier to breathe; he couldn't believe that she'd agreed so quickly. “Great,” he said again, carefully making his way to the side of the bed, but her puzzled voice stopped him in his tracks as he reached for the covers.

“So... are you planning on sleeping in your coat and boots?”

Glancing down, Theron realized that he was, in fact, still fully clothed from the day. He sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, feeling heat creeping along his jaw toward his ears.  _Be honest with her and to hells with your embarrassment_ , he thought.  _Just spit it out_.

“I’m really nervous,” he rushed out, turning to face Sanna. “I don’t wanna fuck this up any more than I already have, but I have no idea how to make it better.” Meeting her eyes, he saw the worry and confusion he felt reflected in her features.

“I don’t, either,” she whispered with a shrug, still hugging the pillow to her chest. “But, um, why don’t you start by getting ready for bed?” A small chuckle from both of them broke the tension in the air.

“Sounds like a plan.” With that, Theron eased his boots off with his feet, wincing only slightly as he stepped out of the left boot and kicked it toward the armoire. Shrugging painlessly out of the long, grey duster proved more difficult, but Sanna took pity on him after the briefest of moments. Crossing to his side of the bed, she reached up, whisking the jacket off his shoulders and hanging it up with practiced efficiency.

Turning back to him but avoiding his gaze, she pulled his pajama shorts over with the Force, setting them within arm’s reach at the foot of the bed. She stretched out her arms to help remove his trousers. Her limbs froze centimeters from the fabric, as though just realizing what she was about to do.

“Sorry, I–” she muttered, pulling her hands back to her chest.

“No, it’s okay. I, uh... I got it,” Theron answered, wondering just how awkward things could get between them. Stars, he missed the easy camaraderie they'd had. Sanna turned aside as he undid the closure at his waist and leaned over to slip off his pants. His healing wound protested the movement and he crumpled into himself, gasping at the heat that shot through him, arms clutched tight to his chest.

“Theron.” He turned his head in her direction, trying to meditate around the fiery spasms. A cool hand on his cheek helped him focus, but her worry buzzed in the back of his mind. “When are you due for your next dose of pain medication?”

“What time is it?” he asked through clenched teeth, and carefully dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, still curled up tight, his trousers around his knees.

“Just past 2300 hours.”

“‘bout an hour and a half ago, then.”

With a frustrated sigh, Vassanna retrieved the pill bottle and waited, arms crossed and lips pursed, as he swallowed the light blue tablets. “Stop it,” she bit out. “Just stop trying to be a big damn indestructible hero and take your meds when you’re supposed to.”

“I lost track of time,” Theron answered, his tone pacifying.

“Every day? Because this happens pretty often. Too often, in fact. Shouldn’t you have an alarm on your implants or something?” Concern and fear lay beneath the anger and frustration in her voice. His earlier admonishment echoed in his mind:  _Be honest with her and to hells with your embarrassment._

“I don’t like to depend on them,” he admitted sheepishly. “I don’t want to need them. And they make me fuzzy for a couple hours, or just knock me out completely. I hate it. I have zero control over what happens to me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize– That’s understandable, I didn’t think about....” Her mouth pressed into a worried line and she knelt to remove his pants, folding and tossing them haphazardly on the reading chair.

“You don’t have to do this, sweetheart.” He couldn’t keep the endearment from slipping off his tongue – he'd missed saying it so badly while he was gone.

“I know,” Sanna said softly, looking away. “It hurts,” she admitted in a whisper, her hands balling into tight fists. “Seeing you in pain, it  _hurts_.” Her subdued confession knocked the wind out of him and rendered him speechless.

“I’ll do better,” Theron promised when he found his voice. “I’ll make sure I take ‘em on time. I didn’t mean –”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just –”

“Sanna.” Theron reached out to comfort her, but she rose smoothly, quickly pulling herself together before gesturing for him to lift up his arms. Instead, he grasped her hand, turning it over to kiss the palm; she stood stock-still, eyes wide, and yanked her hand back to her chest as though his touch had burned.

“I’m sorry,” Vassanna said, blinking. “I’m sorry, this is–” She took a gasping breath and continued. “Theron, this is harder than I thought. I can’t seem to let this go but I’m trying, I swear. At least I  _think_ I’m trying. I don’t even know anymore.”

“Nah, you’re doing great.” He offered a lopsided grin that he couldn’t quite make reach his eyes. “If it helps, I can take the sofa or go to a new room, just for a little while, and–”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “No, you said you wouldn’t leave.”

“I said I’d do what would make things better for you, what you wanted. Do you want me to stay?”

Sanna nodded and stepped toward him, standing between his knees, her breath hitching. Gently, so very gently, she took his cheeks in her trembling hands and pressed a tender kiss to his brow.

“I want to make this work, Theron. I  _do_ ,” she said, resting her forehead on his and drawing a shaking breath. “Oh stars, I almost lost you.” Her whisper was harsh and anguished. “How did you  _stand_ it, after Asylum?”

His palms came to rest on her hips and he nuzzled her nose. “Honestly? I have no idea.” Sliding his arms around her waist, Theron pulled her close, resting his head on her chest. Sanna's heartbeat thundered in his ear and the weight of her chin on the top of his head comforted him. Long moments passed and a peace settled over them.

“Let's finish getting you changed, shall we?” she asked and the tranquil spell was broken.

As Vassanna carefully lifted the shirt over his head, her eyes avoiding the bandages on his torso, Theron glanced down at the scar on her right thigh. It was hard to miss: as wide as his thumb and just off-center, toward the outside of her leg. It began about five or six centimeters above her knee and ran upward, disappearing under her pajama shorts. It wasn't there last year and, as much as he didn't want to know about its origins, he had to ask.

His hand came to rest gingerly on the side of her knee, his thumb brushing the bottom of the jagged scar, and he looked up at her. “Sanna, what’s this from?” She ignored his question, balling up his shirt and tossing it into the hamper with an intense focus.

“What happened?” Theron asked softly. The roughly-healed wound was too old for Nathema. Maybe Copero? He dismissed the thought, knowing that most of the combat she'd faced there had been against blasters and knives – and one lightsaber. None of those weapons left quite so ragged a mark.

“It’s nothing, Theron,” she said, giving him a small, sad smile.

With a frown of determination, he tugged on the back of her leg. She yelped as she fell forward, her hands finding his shoulders in an attempt to keep her balance. Drawing her knee to him, he pressed his lips tenderly to the bottom of the scar. Theron trailed kisses interspersed with apologies and declarations of love along the blemished skin until he reached the bottom hem of her pajamas.

“May I?” he asked, looking up at her, waiting patiently. Sanna closed her eyes and bit her lip, nodding. He gently, carefully pushed the shorts up to her hip, aghast at what he found: the rough, puckered scar ran nearly the entire length of her thigh, ending near her hip, an agonizing twenty-five centimeters from the start.

Oh Force, what had he done?

He shifted back on the bed until his calves hit the edge, and looked up at the woman before him. “C’mere,” he whispered, gently pulling her to straddle his lap as his hands rested on her hips. He tried again to meet her eyes, but she was focused on her nails. “Tell me what happened. Please, San?”

“Why do you need to know? It’s not important.” The sharp edge of her words sliced through his heart and he saw that he’d pushed too far – the one thing he hadn’t wanted to do.

“I don't,” he said softly. “I'm sorry for pressing, I shouldn’t have.”

She met his gaze, surprised that he wasn't going to insist on an answer, and rested her forehead on his. He was getting fuzzy-headed; the pain was practically gone, but so was his focus. Thankfully, he had an anchor in Vassanna as the room wobbled around him.

“Lana and I....” Her hesitant utterance brought him back to the present and helped him concentrate. “We jumped, but I don’t know if the train rocked while I was in the air or if I just misjudged the distance from the start; it's all still a bit of a blur.” Theron winced as the hangnail she'd absently picked began to bleed. “Broken transparisteel is a lot sharper than I’d thought.”

Oh no. He thought he'd given them enough time to jump from the train safely. Damn it all, another miscalculation, another failure. His catalog of mistakes had damaged her shoulder and her leg, to say nothing of her heart and mind. Hissing out an expletive, he cradled Sanna's face in his palms and opened his mouth to apologize, to say  _something,_ but couldn't figure out where to start. The lines of her features softened, blurring, and he tried to blink her back into focus. Unable to do so, he simply rested his forehead on hers, his eyes screwed shut, breathing ragged as a sob threatened to escape.

“Hells, I’m sorry. I never meant to... I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I–”

“No. No more apologies, I forgive you.” He shook his head with a sniffle.

“I don’t deserve–”

“Stop,” she insisted, her thumb pressed to his mouth. Leaning in, Vassanna kissed him softly, her lips brushing his like a whisper. “Quit apologizing and kiss me instead.”

“But I–” She cut off his protest once more with a kiss, though more forceful this time, her hands curling around the back of his neck.

“I forgive you. I will say it as many times as you need to hear, but I would like to stop eventually.” Sanna trailed her fingertips up along his neck and jaw, curling a finger under his chin, and tilted his face toward hers. Summoning up the courage to meet her eyes, Theron glanced up and offered a sad smile. The pads of her thumbs brushed away the tears he hadn't realized were trickling down his cheeks and she kissed his forehead. Gentle fingertips traced his implants before she hugged him close, cradling his head to her chest.

Her tenderness broke down the last remaining walls that Theron had constructed to hold back all the guilt, the shame, the horror and regrets of the last year. Overwhelmed as the dam shattered, the emotions he'd buried for so long spilled over and he wrapped his arms around his Jedi –  _his_ Jedi, how in all the hells was she  _his_ again? – holding her tight. Memories threatened to drown him and Sanna was the only thing keeping his head above water. When had he last cried? He couldn’t even remember. He dug strong fingers into her back, twisting the fabric of her tank top, and buried his face in her neck.

Between the harsh sobs that wracked his body, Theron mumbled apologies and how much he loved her and missed her, so damned much, and how leaving her there, hurting her like that killed him. All that he had wanted was to keep her safe, he had to keep her safe because he couldn't bear to lose her again, not again, please not again. He wanted so badly to make things right, but if she didn't want this, didn't want him anymore, he understood.

Sanna murmured, calm and soothing, as Theron's shoulders shook and his chest heaved, gently rubbing his back, her other fingers curled around the back of his neck. He told her how much he hated what he'd done, working for the Order; hated himself for the things he'd done at their request, in their name. Was he any better than they were? They did it to destroy, but he'd done it to protect. He didn't think the distinction made that much of a difference, though.

“Shh, it's all right, Theron. You're all right; I'm here, it's okay,” she hummed, echoing the soft comfort he'd always offered to settle her after a nightmare. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to his lips and he kissed her collarbone, declaring his love for her once again. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. No, I forgive you, we’ll be okay. We’ll make this work, sweet.” Sanna's words provided a healing balm that he tried to ignore: he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but she offered it so freely, so lovingly.

His tears had run their course, and Theron nuzzled her neck with his nose. “Stars above, I love you.” She gave a contented hum, squeezing him close.

Before his return home to Odessen, her hesitancy to respond in kind would have torn him to pieces, but he understood now. She still cared for him, loved him; her actions spoke louder than those three little words that had taken them both far too long to say. She could take as much time as she needed to say them again. It didn’t matter, so long as she wanted him by her side.

“I forgive you, a thousand times over,” she whispered in his ear, her arms still twined around his neck, resting on his shoulders. “Tell you what: I'll keep working on letting go of the hurt and the anger like a good little Jedi, and you can work on forgiving  _yourself_.” Before Theron could protest, Sanna continued, her head resting on his. “I can feel it, you know: all the guilt that tries to smother you every time you think about... about your time with the Order. Our link isn’t the same as it was before, not yet, but I can feel it. And it breaks my heart.” She sniffled and tightened her embrace. “I need you to look at me and... and I need you to see me,  _Vassanna_ , not just some priceless family heirloom that you accidentally knocked over and broke into a million pieces. Because that's what it feels like and, oh stars, I can't...”

He nodded, his breath even once more. “I'll try, sweetheart. I–” Theron's next sentence disappeared with a groan as the room swam before his eyes. Sanna's arms tightened around him, his anchor at sea.

He blinked, opening his eyes to find himself on his back, her features – that beautiful face he'd missed so much – floating above him. Confusion furrowed his brows. Wait, was he actually home? Or was he dreaming again? Either way, he begged her not to leave him, not to sleep on the couch. He needed her to stay, please stay _,_  he needed...

“Shh, it's okay, Theron.” Sanna twined her fingers with his, bringing the back of his hand to her lips, and the world pivoted sharply on the wrong axis.

 _Ah, fuck me_ , he thought as he tried to steady his vision, blinking to bring the room back to rights. A delicate snort came from his Jedi.

“No, my sweet,” she said, amusement dancing in her voice. “You're in no condition for fucking.”

“What?” he asked, dazed. Why had she brought up... shit, had he said that out loud?

“Yes, you did say that out loud. And I thought it was a rather clever response, too. But it’s all right. Just relax, Theron. Rest.”

“But you... no, don’t go.” Her hand was cool on his forehead and stars above, he’d missed her. He tightened his grip on her other hand, desperation clawing at his heart, and stared into her eyes, memorizing every fleck of amethyst. “Stay with me. Please, Sanna. I missed you so much. I hated joining them, they were terrible, and I hurt you. It killed me to hurt you.” Theron was rambling by this point, his words slurring, jumbled together as they raced from his lips. “Hells, your face. Seeing your face, it broke me. Then that damned droid sent a vid of you after our call and you cried. You cried and it was because of me, because I hurt you. I hurt you and I have to fix it but I don't know how. Stars help me, I don't know how. And I'm terrified that I'm gonna lose you because I don't know how to fix it. I have to...”

“Hush, Theron, it'll be all right.” She bestowed a kiss on his forehead, the light scent of her shampoo wafting past his nose. “I'm not going anywhere. Sleep now. Rest, and I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise.”

His vision faded to black, eyes fluttering closed, but Theron's fears and worries disappeared as a beautiful, golden warmth filled his heart. She promised, and Sanna had never let him down before.


	11. Hold Me Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little snuggling ficlet that happens a week or two after the last chapter. Written for a cuddle prompt fill, "Reunion."
> 
> Nothing angsty to see here, move along. :)

“Mind if I join you?”

The soft voice Theron had missed for the better part of a year interrupted his reading and he looked up, his lips curling into a smile.

“Nothing I’d like more, sweetheart,” he said. His smile turned into a frown as he glanced at the chrono. “I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s barely 0430.”

“Nah,” she answered, shaking her head. Sanna sank into the couch, sitting on one leg and leaning toward him. “Are you feeling all right?” He nodded, but she inspected his face, her palm gently resting on his cheek. “Are you sure?” The concern in her gaze melted his heart and made it hard to breathe for a moment. _Stars_ , he was so lucky to have her.

“Yeah. Just had a hard time sleeping and I kept waking you up. Not a lot, but enough.” He shrugged. “I felt like a jerk, disturbing you like that, so I figured I’d get my day started,” Theron explained, setting his hand on hers and turning to press a kiss to her palm.

“You don’t have to leave next time. No, really,” she said as he shook his head. “Wake me up, too.” Sanna slipped under his arm, winding hers carefully around his chest, holding him close. He dropped a kiss to her hair, the floral scent of her shampoo filling the air, and rested his chin on her head. “Please Theron.” Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I’d rather miss out on some sleep than wake up alone again, wondering.”

His heart stopped for a moment and he swore under his breath. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Stop,” she interrupted and looked up at him, her fingers against his lips. “I know you didn’t mean to.” Vassanna sighed and rolled her eyes with a small smirk. “And I need to stop being so melodramatic about it.” She snuggled back up to Theron and he wrapped his arms tight around her, burying his face in her hair.

“I love you, San.”

“Hmm, you too,” she murmured into his chest and yawned, curling up into his side. He ran his hand through her hair and along her cheek. After a few minutes, Theron felt her body fall limply back into sleep and he grinned when a small snore slipped from her lips.

He slouched a bit and reached for the pillow he’d brought over, tucking it behind his head. Contented, he propped his feet up on the caf table and settled in. Sanna’s yawn was contagious and she was soft and warm in his arms.

“You’re my favorite, sweetheart,” he said softly, shifting closer.

Sanna mumbled something unintelligible in response, but he’d already drifted off.


	12. Faith & Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We built something pretty incredible here, didn’t we?” she asked softly.
> 
> Theron didn’t know whether she was referring to their relationship or the Alliance. Either way, the answer was the same.

“Man, the Commander was worried sick about you.”

With a shake of his head and a “tsk,” the golden-yellow Twi'lek put away the medical scanner. Theron stilled, shirt tucked halfway into his trousers, and did his damnedest to remember how to breathe.

“What?”

“The Commander,” explained the med tech as he discarded the used bandages and the wrappers from their replacements, “was here with you more than in her own quarters when you first got home.” A slight frown crossed his features. “Though she was always pulled away before you'd wake up.”

“I didn’t know that,” Theron croaked, somehow managing to dress while his mind spun. He absently picked up the old red and white jacket Sanna had long ago claimed as her own; Eli'anara returned it recently, shoved deep into a bag of his other belongings. As he shrugged into it now, he was struck by a vision – a fuzzy image of trembling green hands holding his. Was it real, he wondered, or had his imagination supplied it? He looked up to the med tech. "Thanks for telling me, Daro."

“Yeah, ‘course. She probably didn’t want to worry you. I mean, she didn’t sleep much while you were – uh, don’t tell her I just told you that.” Daro paused, glancing at the datapad in his hand, and shook his head as he reviewed his patient's file. “You're a lucky bastard, Shan.”

“You're telling me.” Theron let out a small chuckle. “I don't know too many people who've ended up on the wrong side of a lightsaber and lived long enough to tell the story.”

“Or had such a lovely person waiting for them to wake up.”

The spy nodded in agreement as another apparition of Sanna, fretting at his bedside, materialized in his mind’s eye. “Since we’re done here and you’ve reminded me, I'm gonna go make sure she knows what a lucky bastard she’s got.”

Shooed away by the grinning medic, Theron paused at the medical wing’s exit and let his instincts tell him where to find Sanna. He may not be able to wield the Force, but their connection was strong enough that it would point him in the right direction more often than not. Well, it _had_ been strong enough, at least.

Before.

“Moment of truth,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and headed for the overlook, his stomach twisting into knots, hoping he was right. A handful of Alliance members stopped him to inquire after his health or welcome him home and, though a delay, it provided the perfect distraction. Before Theron knew it, he was outside. Turning the corner, his heart leapt when he found his Jedi leaning against the railing, half-loose hair blowing in the light breeze.

“Hey you,” she said, still gazing off into the distance.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he answered, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face as he approached. He rested his elbow on the rail, facing Sanna, and ran his hand along her lower back. Worry he carried in tense shoulders released as she shifted, leaning into his touch.

“We built something pretty incredible here, didn’t we?” she asked softly.

Theron didn’t know whether she was referring to their relationship or the Alliance. Either way, the answer was the same. “Yeah, we certainly did.” He paused, noting a few new strands of silver near her temples. Before he left, the number of grey hairs showing themselves since they had broken her out of carbonite could have been counted on one hand. Now, it seemed he might need all ten fingers _and_ a few toes. A soft smile tugged at his lips. “I’m proud of you. Everything you’ve accomplished. I don’t know the last time I told you that.”

The ghost of a smile flickered across Sanna’s features before fading all too quickly. “I’m afraid,” she said, the words hardly a whisper, and he wondered whether he’d have heard her without his implants. “I’m afraid that it’s all going to change now, that everything’s going to be different.”

Still unsure of her topic, Theron reached up, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips trailing down her jaw and the side of her neck. “I seem to recall telling you once that I'd do anything I could to help the Alliance – to help _you_. What can I do, sweetheart?”

A slight shake of her head answered him. “I don’t know.”

Addressing both possible meanings at once, he rubbed his thumb gently along her jaw. “The Alliance might change going forward; it might not. No matter what, Vassanna, I’m here to stay.” Theron leaned down, pressing his lips to her cheek. “I don’t know what tomorrow looks like, but I’ve got your back. Lana does, too. Whatever the future throws our way, we’ll face it together.”

Sanna nodded and turned to face him, cool hands slipping under his – her? – jacket and around Theron's waist. She leaned into him carefully, sharing a sweet, lovely kiss as he pulled her closer. She tasted like caf and those juna berry muffins she enjoyed and hells, it was good to be home.

Crows and whistles echoed from the military hangar and they parted with a small chuckle.

“It appears we have an audience,” Theron murmured, grinning.

“Indeed.” She laid her palm, cool and soft, on his cheek and he leaned into it with a sigh.

“I love you,” he said, resting his hand on hers and turning to press his lips to her fingers. His other hand cradled her neck, thumb stroking her jaw. “You’re... so amazing. And I’m so lucky to have you.” The need to make her understand how he felt seized him, and his breath caught in his throat. He had to make up for all those months that he was gone, when he couldn’t tell her every day how much he loved her. His fingers speared through her hair of their own volition, pulling her close so he could _show_ her, his lips meeting hers again, though far more ardently than before – audience be damned. When he pulled away, she nuzzled his nose and hummed contentedly.

“Stars, Sanna, you mean so damned much to me.”

She stiffened in his arms, that soft, sweet smile of hers replaced immediately by uncertainty and wariness. Her gaze fell to his chest. “You’re not getting, umm...” She swallowed hard, then shook her head as though to clear it. “Nevermind.”

“Hey, talk to me,” Theron said, entreating, smoothing back a loose wisp of her hair. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and plastered on a forced grin. As heat crept into her cheeks, she met his gaze. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Vassanna.”

“I _said_ I’m fine.”

Theron snorted at her obstinance. “You’re still a terrible liar, you know.”

“Well, maybe you’re too _good_ a liar,” Sanna snapped. Before he could blink, let alone process her retort, she gasped, clamping her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. “I’m sorry,” she said, muffled. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t really mean it, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” It was _mostly_ okay; it stung a little, though he'd more than earned it. That didn’t count as lying to her, did it?

“No, it’s not,” she insisted, taking his jacket lapels and meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“Forgiven,” he said, cradling her cheeks in his hands. “Really. After everything, I… probably deserved it.” _That_ was the truth – and Theron was sure he’d forgive her just about anything.

Sanna’s features relaxed and she gave him a rueful grin as a peace-offering. Rubbing the well-worn red leatheris absently between her fingers, she inspected his appearance – from his shaggy, patchy hair to grey and red boots that didn’t quite match – and her smile turned true. “It's so strange to see this jacket on you again, especially considering it's mine now,” she said with a wink, and he chuckled.

“Oh, it _definitely_ looks better on you,” Theron murmured, his eyes roving over her figure. An adorable flush made its way into her cheeks. She bit her lip and _damn_ , but he wanted to kiss her again.

“At least you’ve got the rest of your clothes back.” Vassanna’s optimistic tone dragged his wayward thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “I’m so glad that Ellie stored your duffle instead of getting rid of it as I’d asked. Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly.

“Nah,” he answered, shaking his head. “You were well within rights to toss it all. But I’m glad, too.”

“Oh! I saw your quetarra case next to the armoire – wherever did she stash it?”

Theron gave a broad grin. “Underneath your bed on the _Defender_ , if you can believe it. Though she made me get it myself.”

Sanna’s jaw dropped. “What? Oh, why, that sneaky little...”

They shared a laugh, and the idea that Sanna’s overprotective cousin had some faith in him warmed Theron’s heart. “Speaking of stashing things,” he said, “I’ve got my other red jacket – the one that no cute Jedi’s laid claim to yet – and a few other things stored on Nar Shaddaa.”

“Well, then,” she said, leaning in close. “We’ll have to go retrieve it soon, before some _other_ cute Jedi claims it as their own.” That grin of hers still knocked the breath right out of him, even after all this time. And – no, focus, dammit. He needed to focus.

“I’d like that.” Theron kissed her forehead and curled his finger under her chin, raising her face to meet his. “Though you’re avoiding the subject.”

Sanna glanced up at him, confused.

“Just a minute ago you said, ‘you're not getting’ and then left it at that. What am I ‘not getting’? What did I miss?”

She deflated with a sigh, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Nothing.”

A flare of irritation spiked through him, but before he could frown, she continued.

“You didn't miss anything. I was going to say, ‘you're not getting romantic on me again, are you?’ because...” She hung her head and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Before we left for Umbara, you were so emphatic, so _fierce_ about telling me how much you loved me, how much you cared. It was the same on the shuttle ride there and then –”

Hells. And he’d just done the same thing. Different intention this time, but _she_ didn’t know that.

“I want to trust you. I’m trying to, I swear, but –”

“No, sweetheart,” Theron said gently, caressing her cheek. “I screwed this up in pretty much the worst way possible. I don't even understand how I earned as much trust as you've already shown me; I mean, you should have enough suspicions and doubts to fill a _Valor_ -class cruiser.”

Vassanna sighed. “I know. I’m trying not to, but I keep jumping to conclusions, coming up with implications in your words that aren’t really there.”

“Hey,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I will be as unromantic as possible going forward if that will help.” She matched his small grin and he could breathe a bit easier. “I have no tricks up my sleeve, Sanna. No hidden agenda.”

“I know, Theron,” she whispered, nodding. “I know. I know, I _know_.”

She seemed to be trying to convince herself more than him and stars, it broke his heart. He cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Sweetheart–”

“I told you – jumping to conclusions,” she said, a wry curve to her lips. “I'll do better, I promise.”

“You don't need to justify your feelings to anyone, babe,” Theron said as he kissed the tip of her nose. “Least of all me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sanna said, wilting. “We were having a beautiful moment and I ruined it. It was sweet and easy and it felt like things did _before_ and then I went and _ruined_ it with –”

“Stop,” he said softly, placing a thumb on her lips. “You didn't ruin anything; it wasn't perfect before.” He gave her a small smile and a shrug. “We had awkward moments then, too, and we're probably gonna keep having them. But since we're working our way back – slowly but surely – to what we had before, those imperfect moments carry a bit more weight than they used to.”

She placed her palms on his wrists as Theron rested his forehead on hers, musing over how well they fit together. “Besides,” he said softly, “I don't need ‘perfect’ – I just need you.”

Sanna let out a laugh that could have been a sob. “Stars, you're good at this sweet-talk business.”

“Eh, not really. Just trying to be honest.” He couldn't contain a smirk, however.

She looked up at him with a shaky smile, eyes still glossy with unshed tears. Damn it all, what he wouldn’t give to never see her cry again. Silly jokes would help, right? He forced a small chuckle and said, “Looks like we’re gonna have to get you a ‘jump to conclusions mat.’”

Her brows furrowed in confusion at Theron’s flippant comment and he explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. “There was this holo-film about working in an office... I dunno, it’s been years since I’ve seen it.” Dumb jokes work best if the other person _understands_ the reference, but he appeared to have lightened the mood enough.

Sanna gave him the sweetest of smiles and stepped closer, her arms slipping underneath the jacket and around him once more, cautious of his fresh bandages. Theron hugged her close, resting his chin atop her head.

“I know I shouldn’t really need a reason to kiss you and tell you how much I love you, but I kinda do after that stunt I pulled. Let me explain?” At her hum, he continued. “I just came from the medical center,” he said, and she jerked back to meet his gaze, concern plain in her features. He rushed to reassure her. “I’m fine, healing perfectly well. But Daro was my medic.”

Sanna nodded after a moment, remembering the Twi’lek.

“Anyway, he mentioned that you spent a fair bit of time there while I was asleep and... well.” He shrugged. “I had to tell you how much I love you. How damned lucky I am to have you.” He ran his thumb along her jaw. “That's why I was a little more assertive than usual.”

“I couldn’t leave you there alone,” she whispered, blinking away the new tears shining in her eyes. After a long silence and a heavy sigh, she flashed him a weak smile. “‘To hells with my embarrassment and be honest,’ right? Your new motto?” Sanna turned to lean on the railing again and Theron joined her, waiting as patiently as he could for her to gather her thoughts and put voice to them.

“On the way home from Nathema,” she smothered a shudder – mostly – before continuing, “Lana and I discussed what course of action to take, moving forward, regarding you and the Order of Zildrog.”

Theron nodded, remembering. He’d listened to a recording of her speech to the Alliance after their return to Odessen: Vassanna had stood before everyone assembled, every inch the stalwart Commander, and apologized for the deception, explaining that it was necessary to keep all but a select few in the dark to safeguard the mission.

She’d also commended Theron’s bravery: volunteering for a dangerous mission to protect the Alliance and its people was nothing to take for granted.

He’d been dreaming – either in kolto or on a gurney – during her address, but afterward, the guilt of forcing her hand gnawed at him: because of him, because of his actions, she’d had to either admit to the galaxy that her right-hand man and lover had lied to her, or else spin a tale so no one questioned her leadership. Her soft words drew him out of his reverie.

“I stayed with you in the med center mostly to give credence to my explanation. And when you were asleep, it was easier to pretend that the story I had told was the real one. I left every time you started to wake up, though. I couldn’t...” Sanna hung her head. “Stars, I couldn’t face you, but I couldn’t just leave you there, either. You were so pale, helpless. _Alone_. And I'd _missed_ you. I was still so angry at you but terrified that you might– that you might not–”

Her chin quivered and she clutched the railing as though her life – or his – depended upon it. After the briefest of moments, she took a deep breath, pulling herself back together. “Things have been a bit... _complicated_ lately,” Sanna said with a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah, I can understand that.” Theron frowned, but swallowed the apology on his tongue – she’d made it clear she didn’t want or need them anymore. He leaned closer instead, nearly brushing her shoulder, and ran his palm along her spine. “Out of curiosity, how'd you know when to leave?”

“Dr. Raeth monitored your vital signs and would send me a message whenever you appeared to be regaining consciousness. It was my cue to pack up and go.”

He nodded. “Does she know the truth about... what I did?”

Vassanna shook her head. “Not entirely, no. I mentioned that the situation was simply too much for me to handle, especially while trying to pick up the pieces the Order had left behind. I said that I didn’t trust myself around you, that I might fall apart if I spoke with you.” She paused, considering. “Well, that part was all true, but the implication was different. I think I’ve become a better liar than you give me credit for, Theron. I’m not certain that’s a good thing.”

Theron stared at her, dumbstruck, unable to process a fitting response.

Sanna turned to him, slipping a hand around his waist once more and meeting his gaze. “Tell me again.” Her words were quiet, halting. “How you feel about me, I need– Tell me, please.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead as her eyes fluttered closed, then her temple, her cheek. Shifting a step closer, he whispered in her ear. “I love you, Vassanna.”

He felt her breath hitch, holding his own in the brief hesitation that followed. His heart sang when she finally spoke.

“I love you, too, Theron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta'd by the lovely andveryginger. Any mistakes you see are my own.


	13. A New Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change and have some angsty, smutty fluff. 
> 
> (But please be gentle, this is my first time.)

Vassanna drifted slowly towards wakefulness, warm and comfortable, and idly wondered what time it was. This was pleasantly different from what had become her new normal after Umbara: the alarm usually wrenched her from a dreamless, sleeping-tablet-induced rest, leaving her dazed and disoriented for a good portion of the morning. She sighed, feeling utterly relaxed and snug; she must have grabbed an extra pillow to hold in the middle of the night before tossing and turning herself into a tangle of blankets.

As she pondered the state of her rest, something – probably the sheet moving as she shifted – brushed along her right arm. She twitched as it tickled her and tucked the offended appendage back to her chest, feeling a warm, tender pressure on her back.

 _Hey, ‘m sorry, sweetheart, didn't mean to bother you. Go back to sleep, love_.

The soft voice filtered slowly into her mind: Theron. Stars, she missed him so much. Even after everything, she still wanted, _needed_ him home. Dammit, how could he? And why? Why did he have to–

_Shh, it’s okay Sanna, you’re just dreaming. I'm here, I’ve got you. Hush, babe, it's just a dream._

The soothing pressure on her back spread and she felt safe and content, cocooned in tranquility. His voice was right: this was just a dream, and certainly the most peaceful one she'd had in recent memory. Usually, they were a disjointed mess of – well, why dwell on what this dream _wasn't_ when what it _was_ seemed to be far more pleasant?

Sanna allowed her mind to wander, floating in that gentle place between sleep and awake for what felt like hours, basking in the warmth radiating from Dream-Theron and listening to his humming. Sure, it would hurt like hells when she woke up alone again, but right now she'd take it, so long as it meant she could enjoy being in his arms for a little while longer.

Stars, he even smelled good in her dreams – this really wasn't fair.

She took a deep breath, hearing herself snore lightly as she shifted. The ghost of a chuckle – _his_ soft laughter – echoed in her ears and her breath hitched in her throat, eyes stinging. Warm lips pressed to her forehead and, as much as she wanted things to stay exactly as they were, she could feel herself being dragged back to the waking world. Screaming at her subconscious, Sanna demanded that it let her have this, just for a little while longer: this was the only time that she allowed herself to miss him, to let down her guard and take off the mantle of Jedi and Commander. Here in slumber, she could admit that she just wanted the jerk she fell in love with to come _home_ already, to forgive and forget all the things he'd done. Here, she could ignore the cold reality that awaited her: when she woke, she'd have to continue the hunt for him and all she really wanted was _this_.

_Sanna? Wake up, sweetheart. C’mon, it’s just a dream now, you're okay._

Oh for the love of the Force, she _knew_ it was a dream. Theron had been gone for more than half a year at this point (not that she’d been counting) and it frustrated her to no end that even her imagination was trying to take him away.

With a heavy sigh, Sanna mumbled a resigned “fine,” and slowly opened her eyes to start the day. Instead of the back of the sofa, however, she found herself staring at a scruff-covered chin and soft lips, their corners curled up into an easy grin.

Eyes widening, she let out a gaspy squeak and flailed backward, tossing aside the sheet and blanket. The only thing keeping her in the bed was a pair of strong – and very real – arms wrapped around her. “Hey,” said the concerned voice attached to the arms, “I’ve got you, you’re oka– augh!” The arms released her and curled back to their torso with a groan as she struggled in drowsy confusion to free herself.

Sanna blinked and gasped as memories of Nathema and the past few weeks came rushing back. “Theron!” she cried, fingers coming up to cover her mouth. “Are you– oh no, did I hurt you?” she asked. She knelt beside him, her eyes roving, ensuring he was well. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t –”

“I’m all right, ‘s okay,” Theron said, flashing a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You worry too much.”

“Said the pot to the kettle,” she muttered with a frown, her gaze drawn back to his bare chest and the kolto patch that had peeled halfway off, revealing a shiny spot of skin, still red around the edges. She reached out and tenderly pressed the adhesive back where it belonged, a slight tremor in her hands. “Besides, it’s barely been four weeks since... since...” Sanna’s voice faded and she closed her eyes in another failed attempt to erase the image of him slipping toward the Void.

“Since Destiny decided we should match?” Theron asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

She glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s not funny,” she hissed. He grabbed her hand, giving a comforting squeeze before pulling it to his lips, and brushed the softest of kisses on her knuckles and the black ink inscribed there.

Vassanna closed her eyes again as her stomach churned. The sickening feeling of the world being pulled away from her rose up, threatening to drown her as the memory of Atrius tossing Theron like a rag doll replayed on the back of her eyelids. She couldn't help but wonder again if it had been like this for him after her last trip to Asylum – was it as painful for him to think about, the what-ifs running rampant every time he looked at her?

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Theron said, turning her hand over to kiss her palm and dragging her from her brooding. “I'm okay though, really,” he said as he rolled onto his back, earning a raised eyebrow from Sanna as he failed to hide a wince. “I'm fine,” he insisted. Holding his right arm out to the side, Theron looked up at her, amber eyes pleading. “Come back?” he asked, soft and hopeful. “I missed this – just _being_ with you.”

With a small, worried smile, Vassanna nodded, glancing at the kolto patch once more. She slid into the space he’d made for her, snuggled tight to his side with her head tucked under his chin and arm draped across his chest, her fingers idly tracing his collarbone. As she settled in, his fingertips found her forearm, tenderly drifting up and down, and they lay together in peaceful silence.

“I think I woke you up with this earlier,” Theron said, tapping his fingers softly on her arm before resuming the gentle caress. “But you fell back asleep for a half an hour or so; ‘m pretty sure I drifted off, too.” He chuckled, the contented sound reverberating in his chest. “I swear, I’ve slept better in the few weeks I’ve been home than I did in the last eight months. And not just because of the kolto and painkillers.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead and drew a shaky breath, pulling her closer. “Hells, I missed you so damned much.”

“I missed you too,” she said as she shifted, bracing herself on an elbow and gazing at Theron. “But you’re here now. Home,” Sanna whispered, running the backs of her fingers across the stubble on his cheek. “Are you sure I’m not still dreaming?”

He smiled gently and hummed an affirmative before catching her hand, kissing her palm again, then her wrist, then up her arm to the crook of her elbow. Sanna let out a small laugh and said, “You're _here_ .” Her eyes scanned his face, taking in every detail before her nose wrinkled and she frowned. “Your _hair_.”

Theron chuckled and had the good grace to look sheepish. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s still a mess, but it shouldn't take too much longer to even out,” he said, running his hand over the patchy growth on the sides of his head and through the longer strands at the top. “Uh... unless you wanted me to keep it how it was,” he added hesitantly.

Sanna shook her head. “It's not really you, I don't think.”

“Nah, I didn’t think so either.” He took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. “I know we'd agreed that it would take some time to put things back together, to fix... us. But–”

“There's nothing to work on right now, so let's just enjoy this,” she interrupted.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he said, trailing the back of his fingers along her cheek as he gazed up at her in clear adoration. Silence filled the room as they lay together, Vassanna carefully sprawled across Theron’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, snuggled close and exchanging soft caresses. He untied her braid, running his fingers through her hair, sending the long tresses cascading down her back and over her shoulders. His eyes drifted closed with a sigh as she traced his implants, and she dropped an impossibly delicate kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I figured out why I’ve been sleeping so well, now that I’m back on Odessen.” Theron broke the peaceful quiet with a small smile.

“Is that so?” she asked, eyebrow arching upwards. “I’m going to guess that it’s the beds. They’re much better here than what the Order had to offer, I’m sure.”

Theron snorted and smirked. “Well, you’re not wrong, but that’s not it.”

“No? Is it the food, then?” He shook his head at her question and she continued. “The endless bickering between Koth and Senya? You _know_ you missed that.” They both chuckled over one of the constants in the Alliance as he ran the backs of his fingers along her side.

“Surprisingly, I did, but that’s still not it.”

“Ooh, I know: the elegant-yet-understated stone and metal decor of the Commander’s quarters!” She grinned broadly as he burst into laughter, the joyful sound filling the room. “No? Hmm...” she trailed off, sobering. “Maybe it's because you're home now and can be yourself again.”

He met her eyes with a sad smile. “It’s you, Sanna... _you’re_ home,” Theron said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she blinked in surprise. His thumb ran slowly down her jaw before taking her chin, pulling her down for a kiss.

A small, pleased hum escaped her as the distance between them disappeared, lips brushing tenderly. Her hand came to rest on his cheek and before she could think better of it, Sanna had slipped her leg over his hips – cautious of the kolto patch on his abdomen – and straddled his waist as she deepened the kiss. Theron smirked against her mouth as his hands drifted lower, sliding down her side, grazing her hips, and settling on the underside of her rear.

Gentle as she endeavored to be, Vassanna felt him flinch as she leaned forward. She froze and pulled back, breaking their kiss to a frustrated groan from Theron.

Her mind flitted from one thought to another: how much she wanted him, _needed_ him, and how long it had been since they’d slept together; recalling the fiery agony of the wound she'd received at Arcann’s hand and concern over how Theron was healing (which was “perfectly normal,” according to the medics); counting the time, unsure of when he was able to take the next dose of pain medication; how much she still loved him and didn't want to cause any more pain.

“Sanna? What’s wrong?”

She must have been lost in her rambling thoughts for too long because his hands had loosened and dropped to his sides. Disappointment and defeat – or perhaps resignation – bled from hairline cracks in his mental shielding, muffled as it ran through their mending bond, though she couldn’t see a hint of it in his features.

 _To hells with your embarrassment and be honest_.

Theron’s new mantra echoed in her mind and she took a deep breath. “I want you, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” she blurted out, barely able to look at him.

Relief replaced his disappointment and he offered up a sweet smile that made her heart ache. Reaching for her, Theron cradled her cheek in his hand. “You won't. I'll be okay, I promise,” he said softly.

“No.” She frowned and shook her head, the response sharper than she'd intended. “I don’t want– No promises yet. Please.” Looking away, she missed the guilt and regret that tightened his features.

“That’s fair,” Theron said, his voice strangled. “Let me try that again: I will be all right.”

“Theron, I remember what it–”

“Vassanna.” He met her gaze, his thumb stroking her face. “You won't hurt me. Besides, I already took my pain meds. And not the ones that knock me out.”

“But–” Her objection was muffled as he pushed himself upright and kissed her hard, his fingers curling around the back of her neck, holding her tight. Sanna sighed into the kiss as her eyes fluttered closed, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. The warmth of his skin seeped through her thin tank top as she pressed herself tighter to him, needing him as close as possible. His tongue slipped past her lips and she rolled her hips against him with a moan. Theron let out a small grunt as he tore his mouth from hers, taking her face in his hands and meeting her eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked breathlessly, frowning in concern. “I don’t want to push you.”

She nodded, rocking her hips against him as evidence, and smirked as his features twisted with pleasure.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he gasped out.

“Yes, I want this. I want _you_. Now scoot back,” Sanna whispered as she reached out with the Force, stacking the pillows into a comfortable pile against the headboard. She peppered Theron’s lips, jaw, and neck with small, sweet kisses as her fingernails trailed down his ribs, goosebumps following close behind. A shiver raced through him as she hooked her fingers in the elastic waist of his pajamas; he slid backward, lifting himself slightly as she whisked his shorts off, discarding them near the foot of the bed. He reached for her own sleep shorts, but she caught his wrists and kissed his palms.

Straddling him again, she gently held his face and kissed him, slowly and deeply. Stars above, she’d missed him. His hands squeezed her bottom before sliding up under her shirt to cup her breasts with a satisfied sigh and she smirked – he’d missed her too. Leaning back, she crossed her arms near her waist and tugged the shirt up, twisting slightly as she pulled it over her head, her loose hair spilling onto her shoulders.

“ _Fuck_ , that is so sexy,” Theron groaned. “How the hells do you do that?” His voice was rough with desire; heat flooded her face and pooled low in her belly. He looped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to kiss her jaw, just below her ear. She shivered as his lips drifted to her neck and then her collarbone, then finally to her breast, slowly sucking, his tongue and teeth sending sharp pleasure shooting through her. A whimper fell from her lips, her fingernails digging into the muscles in Theron’s arms and her head tipped back in bliss as he turned his attention to her other breast.

Sanna could barely think straight as his mouth set her afire. His arm pinned her to his bare stomach, the canvas of the kolto patch a stark contrast to the warmth of his body; touching him skin-to-skin amplified their connection and his passion fed her own. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized that he was right: she sensed no pain from him, not in this moment. Calloused fingers scattered her thoughts again as they skimmed up under her shorts, teasing along the line of her panties as he trailed kisses back up her neck to her jaw, nipping at her earlobe. She bit her lip, but couldn’t keep a low whine from escaping as his fingers brushed so close to the ache in her core before disappearing. His chuckle filled her ears, quickly becoming a moan as she ground her hips into him.

“Theron, _please_.” She couldn’t keep the raspy want out of her voice; his hands were everywhere but where she needed them. He kissed her again, his tongue teasing hers, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip.

“Please what, San?” He sounded altogether too pleased with himself, if a little short of breath. He tightened his arm around her waist and ran his palm down the outside of her leg, then smirked obnoxiously when she gasped, his fingertips trailing lightly along the inside of her thigh.

Sanna closed her eyes briefly, gathering her shattered focus. Sliding her palms up Theron’s shoulders and neck until they rested on his jaw, she shifted forward, her lips a hair's breadth away from his. She gazed at him from beneath long, dark lashes, slowly biting her lower lip as she tugged gently on the Force, using it to lightly brush along his ribs, swirling delicately across his stomach and hipbone before mirroring the same path he'd teasingly traced on her a few moments earlier. He squeezed his eyes shut with a hiss, canting his hips towards her, and gripped her so tightly that she knew she’d find bruises later. She returned his smirk as she ran the tip of her tongue along his lip. He leaned in to kiss her, growling in frustration as she pulled back, just out of reach.

The arm around her waist raked up her spine, his hand burying itself in her hair, tangling in the dark strands and tilting her head back, baring her neck to his mouth. Theron's teeth nipped at her pulse point and he slipped his deft fingers into the side of her panties, wringing a moan from her as he ran them along her entrance.

“You're so wet, babe,” he whispered huskily into her neck. A murmured “mmhmm” was all the response Sanna could manage as he slid one finger, then two, inside her. Her drawn-out hum quickly became a desperate, breathy whine as he curled his fingers, beckoning her closer. “I'm so glad you like that, sweetheart,” he said, his breath hot on her ear.

She answered with his name, dripping from her lips like honey, as she writhed against his hand. “I need– oh, _stars,_ Theron.”

“What do you need, love?” he drawled, and the question handed her some modicum of coherence.

“You,” she gasped, reaching for his hard length. “I need _you_.”

“No, not yet Sanna,” he said, his free hand pulling hers away and twining his fingers through hers. “Come for me now, love.”

She began to protest, trying to ignore the pressure building inside her, but he murmured in her ear, “Please, sweetheart. I want to make you feel good.”

Theron's lips met hers once more and he took down the last of his mental shielding; the overwhelming rush of his love and heady desire combined with the ever-quickening movement of his fingers pushed her over the edge with a helpless cry, muffled by their kiss.

Sanna rested her forehead on his as the aftershocks faded and her breathing steadied, gasping when he slipped his fingers free. He kissed the tip of her nose and said, “Let's get you out of the rest of your pajamas, shall we?” She met his gaze in a drowsy, sated stupor and a wicked grin slid into his lips. “Unless you'd rather not?” he asked, eyebrow raised in challenge.

She chuckled, feeling heat creep into her cheeks, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I just... I need a moment,” she sighed.

“We’ve got all day, sweetheart.” The way Theron’s voice dropped an octave, it sounded more like a challenge than a reassurance. He pressed his lips to her temple, tracing circles on her back, dipping lower with each loop. She smiled at his half-concealed impatience – she understood completely; it had been such a long time since they’d been together – and rolled over, climbing out of bed and shucking off the remainder of her clothing. His eyes roamed over her body, the blatant hunger in his gaze stoking the fire inside her and she quickly crawled back into his lap, kissing him fiercely as he wrapped his arms around her.

Theron dug his fingers into Sanna’s waist, tilting his hips in an attempt to get closer. She grinned and wrapped her cool fingers around him, slowly running her hand along his hard, velvety length before guiding him to her. They sighed in unison as he slid inside, Theron shifting and pulling her hips towards him. She closed her eyes with a satisfied hum as he filled her completely, holding perfectly still to fully enjoy the moment.

Leaning forward and grasping the headboard, she snapped her hips sharply against him once, twice, and he swore in a language she didn’t bother to recognize as she captured his lips, setting a deliciously distracting rhythm.

Reaching for his wrist, she ran his hand up her side to her breast with a needy moan. Theron rasped out her name before his mouth latched onto her nipple, eliciting a breathy, drawn-out whimper. She increased her speed and he rocked his hips to meet her. His other hand slipped between their bodies, his thumb finding her sensitive nub, rubbing slow circles that drove her to distraction. Her head fell back with a whispered plea, one hand desperately clutching his wrist, the other tangled in his mess of hair.

At Sanna’s urgent appeal, his thumb moved faster as they rocked together, her breath coming in short, panting gasps and her toes curling. Her fingernails dug into Theron’s skin and she shuddered as a wave of pleasure crested, tearing his name from her lips as she shattered, her world exploding into white. He clung to her and followed her over the edge, groaning his release, calling her name.

Theron fell back against the headboard, sinking into the nest of pillows with a contented sigh. He tugged on her elbow, pulling her close. Smiling, she rested on his chest and draped her arms over his shoulders, tucking her face into his neck as her heart slowed and her breathing returned to normal.

Sanna couldn't suppress a shiver as the sweat on her body evaporated, the recycled air chilly on her bare skin. Or perhaps it was his fingers, gently stroking up and down her spine, pausing occasionally to trace a triangle or diamond at random.

“I love you,” she murmured, her breath caressing his skin. It was the first time that she'd let herself say those words to him unprompted since Umbara and, judging by the surprised huff and how his arms tightened around her, he had noticed.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He kissed her temple, one hand coming up to cradle her head as he nuzzled her ear. “So much,” he whispered into her hair. “Dammit, I want to marry you.”

They both stilled as Theron's words sank in, his apprehension and chagrin stumbling across their connection, followed by love, desire, hope, and devotion. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled with the jumbled emotions in his chest. She could almost hear him berating himself, thinking what a damned idiot he was, that this wasn't how he wanted to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Theron, you don't need to do this,” she said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have brought it up before, that was stupid and I–”

He cut her off, resting two fingers on her lips. “Vassanna Nabeshin.” He glared at her and continued. “It wasn’t stupid and you had every right to bring it up.”

She pulled his hand from her mouth, leaning back on her heels. “Well, I don’t want you to propose if you don't really want to. If you’re only doing this because you think it's what I want–”

“What? Hells, of course I want to– wait,” Theron said, staring at her, confusion writ large on his features. “Do you honestly believe that I've _never_ thought about spending the rest of my life with you? Never thought about a future with you?” Hurt rolled off him in waves, along with uncertainty and not a small amount of unease. “You don’t want...” He faltered, unable to meet her eyes, and swallowed the lump in his throat before his next words fell from his lips, broken and halting, as though afraid of the answer. “Do you not want to get married, because... Jedi and all that? Or d’you just not want _me_?” The heartbreak in his voice and the despair on his face nearly killed her, knocking the air from her chest.

She reached out and took his hand in hers. “No, I do – I want you!”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Dammit, why are you so fucking stubborn?” under his breath and sighed, pulling his hand back and raking it through his hair. “Would you just... just marry me, Sanna. Please.”

Tacking on the last-minute ‘please’ didn't put her any further at ease and a wry expression twisted her features. “Well,” she said drily, “when you put it that way, I _have_ to say yes.”

“Look, I meant it, okay? You're _home_.” He reached out for her, grabbing her upper arms, and she stared in surprise at his urgency. “I felt so fucking lost while I was gone. I hadn’t felt like that in...” He trailed off, closing his eyes. “Well, it’s been a long time.”

He took her hand again, gently twining his fingers in hers, and brought it to his lips. “I thought– I thought it wouldn’t be too bad, working alone again. Yeah, it had been a while since I’d done a solo op, but I knew that it was to keep you safe. I thought that would be enough to keep me going.” He reached up, brushing her cheek. “I’m an idiot because I didn’t realize how damned much I’d miss having you with me; how much I'd come to depend on you, standing next to me, your hand in mine. I had to stand alone. Every day. It was...” He sighed heavily. “Fuck, it was miserable.” Theron kissed her nose and then her forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I won't make that mistake again, sweetheart. Wherever you go, I go. Forever.” He paused and his anxiety spiked, crackling white-hot between them. “If you'll have me?”

Vassanna’s mind raced, careening from one thought to the next: he was proposing to her, in complete seriousness. Marriage. Why was she in such a tizzy over one word? Perhaps it was everything the word implied: it was never something she’d expected to have, not with the life she’d led, her dedication to the Jedi Order and the Republic. They were her family, her home. Even after her time in carbonite, with the founding of the Alliance and her abandoning of the Jedi Order (which still hurt to think about; she could – and _should_ – have helped them. Not that there were many left to help by the time she woke up from her nap), she still hadn’t thought about marriage as an option, not even when she’d found Theron again.

But with most of her friends – her adopted family – lost to the winds of fate and passing time, the Alliance and its people became her new home, her new family. Her life was different, why couldn’t she have _this_ now, too? There was no going back to the Jedi for her at this point; the path she’d walked for the good of the galaxy had diverged too far. The thought broke her heart and terrified her, yet she felt... free, briefly untethered from Destiny.

So then the question was simple: did she want this, did she want _Theron_ for the rest of their lives?

“Yes,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” she said again, stronger this time, and her heart sang as his face lit up. “I want to marry you, Theron Shan. I want a life with you, I want forever.”

“Really?” Theron asked, breathless, and she nodded, a smile growing on her face. “I can't believe it.” He cradled her face in his hands, staring at her as though she were simply a figment of his imagination, as though he wasn't quite certain she was real. “A new chapter, together.”

“Believe it, fiancé,” she said softly.

“ _Stars_ , I love you,” he said with a grin that she mirrored.

“I love you too. Always.” Twining her arms around his neck, she sealed their agreement with a kiss.


	14. What Happens on Nar Shaddaa...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Vinn was fairly easy to fool after Umbara – all I had to do was froth at the mouth about how terrible the Alliance was and he believed that I’d finally seen the error of my ways and had come to the light,” Theron said, bitterness dripping from his words. “Sixteen, though... she made things that much more difficult. Doing anything to sabotage the Order around her became too dangerous.” He took a deep breath. “I had to consider the possibility that I wouldn’t survive.”

Vassanna paced easily around the rental room on Nar Shaddaa; it was shockingly fancy and the bathtub looked like absolute heaven. Though she and Theron were only here for a few days, she meant to take full advantage of that tub before they left.

Unfortunately, they'd had less free time than she’d expected thus far. This morning, on their way to retrieve Theron's things from storage, they ran into Jonas Balkar. He had invited them for an impromptu brunch, and the trio ended up at a cozy little place off the Promenade: the food was delicious, the caf perfectly strong and flavorful, and the ambiance was delightful. The two former colleagues seemed to enjoy catching up as well – _mostly._  Jealousy and irritation had hummed along her Force bond with Theron nearly every time Jonas tossed a compliment her way. It was both endearing and frustrating – did he really not trust her around Jonas? Handsome as the other spy was, there was simply no competition in her mind.

After brunch, it took far longer than it should have to gain access to the lockbox Theron had rented months prior. Quietly passing along a few extra credits sped things up slightly, but the excursion still ate up most of their day. Shaking her head to bring herself back to the present, Sanna checked the chrono and sighed wistfully. There simply wasn't enough time to make use of that bathtub; they had dinner reservations in less than an hour, and it would take at least half that time to get there.

She glanced at Theron as he laid out his quickly-freshened and steamed clothing, reclaimed from the lockbox, and inspected the dusty red jacket for damage. Sanna could feel his eagerness to change, to slip back into his old clothes, into who he was _before_ , but she turned away as he removed his light grey boots.

The medics had given Theron a clean bill of health just before they’d left and he no longer needed kolto patches, which was a good thing. Despite that, her heart stopped and her breath caught in her throat every time her gaze fell upon his newest scar; she’d rather not see the evidence of just how close he had been to dying, how very close she’d come to losing him, not yet. It was still too fresh a wound – literally and figuratively – for both of them.

Technically, they were both on R&R for the time it took them to get to the Smuggler’s Moon and back, and Lana steadfastly refused to send them Alliance updates unless the situation absolutely required them, which meant Vassanna had nothing quickly at hand to keep her busy while he dressed. She recalled the knitting project buried in her travel bag – it would be the perfect distraction. A fresh start was needed, as well as another review of the pattern.

(She hadn’t knit anything in years, but Theron had admired an intricate pair of fingerless gloves that Ellie had made for Corran and, well... she wasn’t certain if one could call the mess she’d made with needles and yarn “knitting.” She would never understand why her mother insisted it was peaceful and meditative – Sanna considered herself an expert on mediation and knitting was _certainly_ not that.)

Removing the needles, she tucked the not-glove under her arm and began to pull out the twisted and uneven stitches, wrapping the now-crinkled yarn around the ball as she crossed to the bed. She paused to shift the paltry contents of Theron’s lockbox to one corner, so as to make a space for her to sit while she worked. As Sanna picked up his datapad, her thumb must have brushed against the bioscanner long enough for it to register her touch; the screen lit up and displayed a list of files. Most were labeled “update-dd-mm-yy” but the first one caught her eye:

_Sanna read this first.txt_

Her apprehension grew as she selected the file, following the instructions despite the little voice in the back of her mind screaming at her to put it down, walk away, don't read it, don’t read it, for the love of all the stars don't read it...

_Sanna. Sweetheart. Beautiful. My Jedi. Mine._

_I know you’re probably not mine anymore, not after what I’ve done, what I've said. I certainly don’t have the right to call you those things, but damn if I haven’t missed saying them to you._

_I'm sorry, I'm being selfish again – endearments aren't the point of this message, but I can’t seem to make myself delete them._

_I swear I’ve written and rewritten this at least a dozen times now, and it hasn't gotten any easier. With all the lies I’ve told you since those damned uprisings started, you deserve nothing less than the straight-up truth now: if you’re reading this, it means that I’m dead._

What? Dead? No. No, this couldn't be real, it– Oh stars, she couldn’t breathe. But he... this was... oh how _could_ he? No. Cold dread wove itself around her spine and through her chest, but her eyes were drawn helplessly back to his missive, her yarn tumbling forgotten to the floor.

_I’m more sorry than you know that this is the way it ended. I wanted to come home to you. To explain. To beg your forgiveness. Hells, just to look at you once more_ – _and not while pretending to be your enemy. But I must have fucked up somewhere along the way. Maybe I left too many traces when passing intel to the Alliance. I don’t know._

Hylo’s messages about all the transmissions her team has picked up flashed through her thoughts and icy bands tightened around her chest, suffocating her. She couldn't feel her fingers – why couldn't she feel her fingers? He wasn’t really dead, he couldn’t be. This wasn't real. No no no, please no. Not Theron.

_All I know is that I love you more than I ever thought possible, Vassanna Nabeshin, daughter of Kethrys and Tomar. I will always be grateful that Destiny gave us a second chance, though I'll admit I’d hoped for a third._

The formal phrasing gutted her: he knew, _he knew_ how much invoking Destiny and a person's lineage meant to her, to her people. How _could_ he? She could hardly focus around the thundering in her ears, struggling to breathe past the lump forming in her throat.

_You mean everything to me – I need to make sure you know that. I love you. I love you I love you I love you. You are the best thing that_

The words on the screen blurred and nothing she did would clear her vision, her eyes burning with tears. As she blinked, she saw him in her mind’s eye, sprawled on the ground in the Throne Room on Zakuul, still – oh so still – vacant eyes staring at nothing. The pressure on her chest increased and oh she was drowning, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t–

She shook her head and instead, she stood on Nathema with Theron, _her Theron_ , in a crumpled heap at her feet, his Force signature flickering like a candle left near a drafty window. Oh no. No, _please_ no.

_If you’re reading this, it means that I’m dead_.

“Sanna?” Theron’s voice – oh, stars, alive and well – dragged her back to the here and now, to the piece of tech that had ripped the floor from beneath her.

“What is this?” she asked woodenly, the words catching in her throat, and held the datapad out to him.

“Sweetheart –”

Fury, red and cloyingly thick, choked her, clogging her airways, filling her nose. How _dare_ he leave her with only a letter, a _message._  Characters on a screen – was that all she meant to him?  “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me!” she snarled. “What. Is. This.” The outstretched hand holding Theron’s datapad tingled, crackling garishly loud in the heavy silence, and his eyes widened. She dropped the pad to the floor as purple light ghosted over her hands and wrists. A spike of irritation cut through the panic: no no no, not _now_ , she couldn’t do this _now_.

She had to breathe. There was an easy fix – she just had to focus and breathe. She never should have practiced with Lana, oh, she had been stupid, _so stupid_ to think she could handle learning this again, but she had to make it stop. She had to control it. The lightning fed off of her emotions; she just had to get herself under control again. Emotion, yet peace. There’s no emotion, no emotion, only peace, only– Oh stars, she couldn't breathe, why couldn’t she breathe?

_If you’re reading this, it means that I’m dead_.

Theron’s hands, warm, solid – _real_ – brushed gently across her cheeks. He smoothed away the tears and cradled her face in his hands. “Vassanna? I need you to take a deep breath. Please, sweet– Sanna, breathe with me, all right? C’mon, nice deep breath in...”

Terror, grief, rage – emotions Sanna had buried for months – clawed at her, grasping, clutching, and dragged her under, drowning her. She met Theron’s gaze; the worry she saw reflected in his eyes only frightened her more.

Something unraveled inside her, cracking and splintering. Pieces that she’d somehow held together all this time fell away faster than she could gather them up and she couldn't breathe, oh stars, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't, couldn't...

* * *

Theron slipped into his old black trousers, the ones he’d traded for grey and red after Umbara, and glared at the fastenings as he tightened his belt one notch smaller. Sanna was right: he still needed to gain back a few pounds.

_Pot, meet kettle_ , he thought, reaching for the coordinating shirt. _At least she doesn't look quite as exhausted anymore_. The dark smudges beneath her eyes were shrinking and fading, ever so slowly, and her cheeks were less gaunt. Apparently, _neither_ of them had handled his betrayal and the subsequent loneliness well.

He heard her breath catch and, frowning, turned around. Sanna stood with tears streaming down her cheeks and panic in her features, staring at his old datapad as though it were possessed and–

_Fuck_ , his datapad. He’d programmed it months ago to only accept three biosignature passcodes: his and Sanna’s, plus Lana’s for redundancy’s sake.

Just in case.

The shirt slipped from his fingers and fluttered back to the chair as a memory played out in his mind, from about two months after he’d left Sanna behind on Umbara: Theron had completed every task assigned to him by Atrius and Sixteen, no matter how repulsive, to "prove" his faux-loyalty to the Order, but none of it mattered. They still didn't trust him completely, especially Sixteen. He had sat in his shuttle, dejected, writing his goodbye to Sanna after a mission that sickened him, trying to ignore the growing dread in his gut and the little voice in his head that told him he'd never go home again.

The farewell letter was just another part of Plan Zerek: his failsafe, a last-ditch effort to protect the Alliance and Vassanna if he was caught or killed. Mostly her, though – he would have died a thousand deaths to give her a long and happy life. Dammit, how much of the message had she read?

“Sanna?” he asked, and she held the datapad out to him, demanding to know what it was. Raw fury and anguish twisted her features and an odd crackling sound drew his attention to her hands. Purple-white tendrils licked at her skin, leaving terrible marks in their wake. Theron’s stomach sank, churning with horror: his words on Umbara and shortly thereafter had been crafted to push her away, to dissuade her from following him, but he’d pushed too far, brutally poking at wounds that would never truly heal.

Doing his best to ignore the gut-twisting, heart-rending guilt for the moment, Theron focused on Sanna and tried to pull her back to herself, out of the panic that had her locked in its grasp. Her ragged breathing concerned him more than the light flickering across her skin – she was bound to pass out if she kept this up. She kept mumbling that she couldn’t breathe, her broken words carried on the smallest puffs of air.

His Jedi – his strong, beautiful, sweet Jedi – met his gaze, let out a wretched sob, and sank to the floor. He followed, kneeling next to her and cradling her cheeks in his palms. Sanna kept staring at her shaking hands as though they didn’t belong to her and it broke his heart.

(If he were completely honest, it was pretty damn terrifying to watch the lightning-shaped marks grow and creep up her bare arms, but now was definitely not the time for _that_ conversation.)

“I can't make it stop,” she stammered.

“Yes, you can. I _know_ you can.” Theron’s encouragement was met with a shake of her head and another sob. On a hunch, he slid his hands down, gently caressing her neck and slipping over her shoulders before coming to rest on her upper arms, just above the crackling light. Giving her a squeeze and taking a deep breath of his own, he said, “I trust you, Vassanna, and you can do this. I know it. Can you look at me? Please?”

Their eyes met and he let his palms drift slowly down her arms. He managed to keep from flinching as the electricity bit at his skin, hot and sharp, until he reached her wrists. Then the small hiss of pain he couldn't smother snapped Sanna out of whatever mental loop she was stuck in and she gasped, pulling away before she could inflict too much damage, cradling her hands to her chest.

His hunch had paid off, though: the lightning was gone, though her hands and forearms remained covered in dark bruises.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she snapped. “Why would you do that? I could have hurt you!”

Theron offered a sad smile. “But you didn't, not really,” he said, gingerly flexing his tender fingers. “And you've got things back under wraps again.”

Her eyes widened, temper flaring. “How _dare_ –” She took a gulping breath, dashing away the tears on her cheeks angrily.

Dammit, his stomach hurt, the way it had near the end of his time with the Order: like he'd drank too much strong caf with nothing else and the caf was burning through him. How did he manage to keep fucking things up with her?

“Quit throwing yourself into harm's way to help me! I don't _want_ that kind of help, not if it means you–” A sob wrenched its way out of Sanna and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Theron gingerly wrapped his arms around her, prepared for her to pull away. His racing heart steadied when she leaned into his touch instead, her fingers grasping desperately at his shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

She cried and she cried and she _cried_ , tugging him close. He thought that he'd glued his heart back together fairly well after he came home and they made up, but it was falling to pieces again with every tear that soaked into his patched grey shirt. Her fisted hands slammed weakly into his chest and a mangled “why?” reached his ears.

“I’m so sorry, Sanna. I couldn’t leave things between us the way I had, not after...” He shook his head and wanted to scream in frustration over the mess he'd made – again. “I’d been trying to prove myself loyal to the Order for weeks, _months_ , but Sixteen was still suspicious. I knew I’d never win her over. Vinn was fairly easy to fool after Umbara – all I had to do was froth at the mouth about how terrible the Alliance was and he believed that I’d finally seen the error of my ways and had come to the light,” Theron said, bitterness dripping from his words. “Sixteen, though... she made things that much more difficult. Doing anything to sabotage the Order around her became too dangerous.” He took a deep breath. “I had to consider the possibility that I wouldn’t survive, that–”

A harsh, keening wail, muffled by his chest, cut off his explanation. He'd never heard such a mournful, heart-wrenching sound from anyone, let alone his Jedi, and it took his breath away. All he could do was stroke her back and kiss the top of her head as she wept wretchedly into his shirt.

“I'm sorry,” he said when he could speak again. “I'm so sorry. I...” He hesitated briefly, worried that his continued explanation would make things worse, but forged on. “If I didn't make it home, if I couldn't come back to you, I wanted to be able to explain. At least a little bit. I wanted to apologize, to beg your forgiveness, to tell you how damned much I love you. I wanted 'I love you' to be the last thing you heard from me, not those other gods-awful things.” Theron's breath hitched in his chest and he rocked Sanna gently side to side. “Stars, I couldn't stand the thought of _that_ being the last thing I'd said to you.”

His confession didn’t seem to have made things better, but at least he hadn’t made anything worse. She was still sobbing and shaking – teeth-rattling tremors that wracked her whole body – and her breathing was too shallow and irregular. It didn’t help that she was trying to talk to him at the same time.

“Can’t stop crying,” Sanna mumbled, her words broken by harsh gasps. “Can’t stop. You almost died and that message... it’s the only thing I would’ve had of you. The only thing. You almost died, almost died, I almost lost you. And you left,” she said, rambling, as though she couldn’t keep the words from pouring out of her mouth. “You _left_ me, you left, you left and you said that I– oh, you said...”

The corners of Theron’s eyes burned with unshed tears – stars, he’d cried more since coming home than he had in his entire life. He murmured an “oh, babe,” and shifted to relieve his numb legs, sitting loosely cross-legged before reaching to pull her into his lap.

“No, _don’t_ ,” she sobbed, and he stilled. Her arms draped over his shoulders and wound around his neck. “Don’t let me go, please _please_ don’t let me go I love you but you left you left you _left_ don’t leave please stay stay with me don’t die don’t go don’t go please...”

Theron hugged her tight and began a litany of his own, calm and soothing as he could manage: _Just breathe sweetheart. No, I won't leave you again, I'm so sorry. You're okay, I'm here, I've got you._ It had been so long since he’d seen her this upset; Vitiate was the last to break Sanna down like this, trying to twist her mind to his will by threatening Theron’s life.

Oh hells, he was as bad as _Vitiate_. That was a sickening thought.

“Marry me.” Sanna’s whisper brought the faintest smile to his face. Their meeting with Jonas this morning had been no accident; the spy was the only one Theron trusted to deliver the ring ordered from a jeweler on Coruscant. He'd planned to give it to her tonight at dinner, like a proper engagement – she deserved something _normal_ for once in her life. Checking the time, he made a mental note to change their reservations to tomorrow – a fancy dinner wasn’t in the cards for tonight. Just one more thing he'd fucked up.

“Marry me,” she said again, her mumbled request snapping him out of his brief pity party. “Marry me please, I need you to be mine, need to make you mine. _Mine_...”

“‘Course I’ll marry you, Sanna; we agreed to that on Odessen. But let's talk about logistics once you're breathing a little better, okay?” Theron pressed a kiss to her hair, his fingers running up and down her spine as she nodded.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Love you. Love you...”

“Love you too, Sanna. Always.”

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Vassanna was still clinging to Theron and his now-sodden shirt, though far less frantically. She’d calmed down again, barely trembling and her breathing almost even. He held out hope that it would last; until now, every time she relaxed, another wave of tears would sweep her away after a few moments.

She sagged against him, exhausted, and he continued to rub her back in slow strokes up and down her spine, murmuring what was likely nonsense at this point. A huge yawn from the woman in his arms was his cue: she was drained, emotionally and physically, and all he had to do was get her to bed and settled, then she should sleep like the dead.

(She didn't get like this often – only a couple times since he'd joined the Alliance on Odessen – and thank the Force, because he hated it. The daze, the apathy, the emptiness in her eyes... hells, it _killed_ him.)

Slowly standing, Theron pulled Sanna up with him and escorted her to the ‘fresher, leaving her to her nightly ablutions. When she was finished, he stripped her down to her underwear with clinical precision and slipped his sleep shirt from last night over her head before gently nudging her into the fluffy bed. As he pulled the soft blankets up to her shoulders, he kissed her temple and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I probably should have asked before I rushed you into bed, but we can order room service or something.”

Her eyes widened with a gasp. “Dinner! We were supposed to go–”

“No no, it's okay,” Theron interrupted, rushing to explain before the new tears pooling in her eyes could spill onto her cheeks. “I changed the reservations to tomorrow. Please don't cry.” Worry bled into his voice as he silently begged the Force to help keep her calm, but he didn’t think she noticed. “Did you want anything to eat?"

Sanna shook her head, her face blotchy from crying, and closed puffy eyes with a sniffle. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Theron crossed to his duffle bag; he knew he’d stashed some ration bars in a side pocket before they’d left Odessen. Retrieving his dinner and a datapad – not the one with the new scorch marks along the edge – he set them on the nightstand and shucked off his clothes, climbing into bed.

Her full weight trapped him immediately as Sanna draped herself across him, limbs tangling together and her head resting on his shoulder. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened, I just–”

“Vassanna,” he interrupted. “Are you trying to apologize for reacting to something stupid and careless that _I_ did?” Her silence was answer enough and he smiled gently. “Please don’t.”

She nodded and they lay together in silence punctuated by an occasional sniffle. Theron ran his fingers along her arm, wishing that his gentle touch could erase the terrible marks painted on her skin. Was it his imagination, or were they fading?

“When I was rambling earlier,” Sanna asked quietly, “did I ask you to marry me?”

Theron couldn’t help but smirk. “A time or two, yeah.”

“I meant it. Marry me tomorrow.”

“Well,” he drawled, remembering her response to his similar request a week ago, “when you put it _that_ way, I have to say yes.”

“I'm serious,” she said, her arms tightening around his chest. “Please, I need to make you mine, officially.” A hint of desperation seeped into her words and Theron dropped any semblance of teasing.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I'm sure we can find someone on Nar Shaddaa to perform a little ceremony. Though I think Vette and Senya will be a bit disappointed – they’re really looking forward to throwing that big party.”

Sanna shook her head and yawned again, growing heavier in his arms as fatigue tightened its hold on her. “Don’t need a ceremony. Jus’ think.” She mumbled the end of the sentence and he couldn't quite make it out.

“Think about what, sweetheart?”

“ _Ink_ ,” she muttered, nuzzling closer to his neck. “Tattoos. Ceremony can be whenever, just need the tattoos... then it’s ‘ficial.”

“So... no rings?” Theron's stomach sank when she shook her head, the tiny box Jonas had slipped into his jacket pocket earlier today burning a hole in his brain.

“Don't need ‘em,” she slurred, fighting slumber. “Most people get them, though.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Prolly get you one – don't wanna make you get a tattoo.”

Theron tightened his embrace with a smile and a murmured declaration of love. As he held her close, Vassanna sighed, sleep claiming her within a few heartbeats. Carefully reaching back to the nightstand, he grabbed his datapad and pulled up a search for traditional Mirialan tattoo artists on Nar Shaddaa; he was pleasantly surprised to find one of the best-rated shops had an opening tomorrow around lunch.

_Funny how Destiny works sometimes_ , he thought as he booked the appointment, a grin playing on his lips.


End file.
